Endgame
by Ceris Malfoy
Summary: After the fall of Vos, there was nothing its Winglord could do to reclaim it. Nothing, that is, except to sell his illegitimate heir to the leader of the Decepticons. Starscream, however, has other ideas. He would not let Coldfront reclaim Vos. Megs/Star
1. A Game for Two?

**Endgame**

**Part 1: _A Game for Two?_**

**Summary:** After the fall of Vos, there was nothing its Winglord could do to reclaim it. Nothing, that is, except to sell his bastard heir to the leader of the Decepticons. Starscream, however, has other ideas. He would not let Coldfront reclaim Vos.

**Fandom:** Transformers

**Continuity:** AU! G1. Pre-Earth.

**Pairing:** Megatron/Starscream

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N:** This story came into being because of my fascination with HBO's new special, A Game of Thrones. I think my favorite portion of the story is Daenerys Targaryen's. Her story is sad, but moving, and well, imagination took flight. Now, obviously some things got changed, as I really can't see Starscream simply sitting by passively while he was sold to the highest bidder, so to speak, no matter how AU this story is.

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><p>"<em>Don't try to make [your child] grow up to be like you, or they may do it."<em>

_-Russel Baker_

Coldfront held the blade out for his inspection. "This is almost worthy of a Winglord," the larger-than-average seeker mused. "Its plainness should certainly do for a Winglord's bastard heir." Cold golden optics studied him, waiting for a reaction to the insult, but Starscream did not move or speak, merely stared back with his own crimson gaze, blank and silent in the face of adversity as he had been for many years. A cruel twist of familiar thin lips was the only sign of his sire's ire at his silence. "Touch it, Starscream. Feel the metal."

Starscream obediently touched the blade. The alloy of the metal was foreign to Cybertron, he knew it instantly. No metal on Cybertron hummed like this; no metal on Cybertron pulsed as if it had a life of its own. Starscream only knew of one metal like this – though he did not know its name, he knew of the race that had spent eons learning how to smelt the ore and forge the alloy just _so_, resulting in a cost that most beings on many planes of existence could never afford. The blade was smooth, unmarked by either the natural imperfections usually found in blades made of other metals or the customary adornments favored by those in the ranks of the elite. Starscream knew that the blade had been custom crafted for him. It fit his smaller-than-average grip too well, meshed too closely with his energy signature, appealed too finely to his simplistic aesthetic tastes. That some stranger would go to such expense for him frightened him.

He withdrew his hand and simply stared at the blade. "To whom do I owe my thanks for such a gift?" he asked quietly.

"It comes from Senator Ratbat," Coldfront said, coldly eying him again. Starscream knew his sire was calculating what Starscream's unusual beauty could win him. Coldfront had a dream, a dream he thought Starscream didn't know about, but how could the younger seeker not know? Coldfront _lived_ for the day he could reclaim Vos as his own with a new mate who could give him many 'worthwhile' heirs. "The simplistic nature of the blade does not truly suit your rank, but considering just how bright your colors are, to adorn the blade would send out entirely the wrong message. Starscream, you _must_ look a warrior tonight. If you fail me, it will go very badly for you."

Starscream did not react to the threat. He knew the worth, or lack thereof, his Sire valued him at, and had known it for many vorns. That his sire planned to sell him was not new, not by a long shot. He'd lost count of the number of deals Coldfront had tried to arrange with him as the prize, but this was the first time Coldfront's plan had ever come so close to fruition. It had hurt, once upon a time, to know that he would never be appreciated as a living, sentient being; to know that no matter what he did, he'd always be a _thing_ to be used in Coldfront's view. Nowadays though, he felt nothing but the slow burn of anticipation. Coldfront wanted him to merely _look_ a warrior, eh? He wanted to laugh. His sire had no idea what he was truly capable of, had never really wanted to know, and Starscream liked that just fine. He eyed the blade in his sire's grip, imagining how the smooth edge would look covered in Coldfront's energon. But, no. He wasn't ready for that confrontation just yet. As far as he'd come, he still had much farther to go before he'd be able to take on his Sire and hope to win - Coldfront had not become Winglord because he was pretty, after all.

"Why does he gift me so?" Starscream asked, watching his sire closely. Coldfront was an intimidating mech to most, being nearly twice the size of a normal seeker, and much faster than he had any right to be when one considered his total mass, but Starscream knew that it was not the older seeker's size or speed that one had to be wary of. Coldfront was ..._not well,_ mentally speaking. The older seeker was mostly lucid, but there were some occasions where he _scared_ Starscream, and that was not an easy feat to accomplish. The worst part of it all was that Starscream never knew what could set his Sire off. "What does he want from me?" He did not for a moment believe that his sire sold him to Ratbat, nor did he believe that Ratbat was doing this out of the generosity of his own spark. For almost a full vorn, Starscream and Coldfront had lived in the Senator's tower, drinking his energon, being pampered by his slaves, and allowed in the forbidden archives where a treasure-trove of knowledge rested, just waiting for some enterprising young mind to pick through it. Starscream had only just been upgraded to his final frame several rotations ago, but he was old and jaded enough to know that such favors did not come free. They had a price; one that Starscream doubted could be repaid.

"Ratbat is no fool," Coldfront said. "The Senator knows that I will not forget to repay my debts when I regain Vos." There was a hint of the fervent madness that plagued him in those cold optics, and Starscream kept wisely silent. He did not think Coldfront was aware of just how far in debt to Ratbat they actually were, and while Starscream would be spared the repaying once he was finally sold, Coldfront had no such out. Senator Ratbat was a dangerous mech to be beholden to – the Senator had 'friends' in every city on Cybertron, as well as in most of the trading ports all across the known universe. It was whispered that there had never been a friend that Ratbat wasn't willing to sell or murder for the right price, and mechs that owed Ratbat too much often ended up disappearing. However, Starscream also knew better than to tell that to Coldfront, especially when he was working towards a goal Starscream knew would fail; a fanatical obsession that, more importantly, _Ratbat_ knew would fail.

Coldfront's anger was a terrible thing, yes, and often led to critical (but never deadly) wounds, but mostly Starscream kept quiet simply because when his sire's plan failed, as it inevitably would, Starscream was planning on standing by and just watching the resulting disaster. There might even be some laughter involved.

His sire placed the blade on a table beside the door. "Ratbat will send the slaves to properly cleanse you for the party tonight. Be sure they wax you accurately this time – I can clearly see the stroke marks from your last session." He studied Starscream critically for a moment, distaste written in every tense line of his form. "And hold up your wings; be proud, bastard of mine, for you are to bond a Lord. The Lord Megatron will not want a weak-willed sparkling for a mate."

Starscream willed his wings to shift in the manner indicated, again reminding himself sternly that now was not the time. He needed to be patient, be ever still and waiting; the best predators, after all, were those who waited for their prey to come to them.

Coldfront nodded in satisfaction and left, leaving Starscream alone in the silence. He sighed and dropped his wings low again, relaxing in the quiet. Eventually, he wandered over to his barred window and looked out wistfully at the sky. The square towers of Axion were sparkling in the light of the mid-day sun, glittering for all their worth. The scene was beautiful, perhaps, but he truly didn't care. At this time, all he wanted was to be anywhere but here; to have no future and no past and no party to attend to determine if he was worth trading an army for.

Somewhere beyond Axion, across the wastelands and beyond Iacon, lay a land that had once been filled with glittering towers spiraling out of the ground like giant horns. There had been no roads there, no stairs; it had been a city for fliers built by fliers. He had been taught that the land was once called Voxni in their native language, but many generations of influence from the languages of the groundlings had shortened it to Vos. Coldfront had only one name for that land, however. _Mine._

"_Mine by right, taken from me by treachery and deceit, but mine still, Starscream. They will regret the day they forced me out, oh yes. I remember, and I repay."_

And perhaps Coldfront did remember Vos, but Starscream did not. The last time he had seen Vos had been when he was still very young – little more than a sparkling barely past integrating his first frame. All he remembered of that city was pain and smoke and screaming. The places his sire spoke of so fondly – the Aeries, the Vosnian War Academy, the Spiral Gardens – they were just words to him. Coldfront had been forced to watch as his mate and true heirs, the legitimate ones, were murdered in cold blood, but no one had known about his lover on the side, or the resulting sparkling. Starscream had been raised by a mech maddened by the combined grief and rage over loss of his mate and trine-brothers and heirs for most of his youngling years. And he most likely would have died, a victim of Coldfront's madness, if it hadn't of been for Skyfire.

Starscream closed his optics as the grief, still so fresh despite the long time he had had to deal with it, threatened to consume his spark yet again. Once Skyfire had practically kidnapped him that night, Starscream had been practically adopted by Senator Vaerys, Skyfire's Sire. Skyfire had been Vaerys's only sparkling, and had used much of his creator's influence to sway the Science Council into allowing Starscream to take the entrance exams to the Iacon Academy of the Sciences. War-builds such as seekers were usually denied the privilege of attending the prestigious school, but the results of Starscream's exams had spoken for themselves. He had had thirteen vorns of peace and learning. Thirteen vorns of exploration and inventing. Thirteen vorns of patient courting and excited planning.

He should have known Coldfront would never allow Starscream to keep his freedom; he should have known that eventually the Winglord of Vos would regain his equilibrium and remember about the bastard heir that might buy him a way to reclaim Vos. He should have known that the union between the Winglord's only remaining heir and a mere shuttle – senator's creation or not – would never have been accepted by said Winglord.

Coldfront had killed Skyfire, or had him killed, Starscream knew. Oh, sure, the reports said Skyfire had crashed during a freak snowstorm, but Starscream knew better. It struck him as a highly odd coincidence that not three cycles after they had announced their intent to bond that Skyfire suddenly off-lined. Especially when not two joors had passed since Starscream and Senator Vaerys had been given the news that Coldfront miraculously showed up demanding retribution for being denied access to his only remaining heir. The look in Coldfront's optics when he'd been forced to acknowledge that Starscream was his heir had told Starscream everything he needed to know about what he was to Coldfront. He wasn't Coldfront's heir, he was the Winglord's bargaining chip. A thing, a tool. What does a tool need with happiness or freedom? It's purpose was to be used. Starscream did not blame Senator Vaerys for giving into Coldfront - what could the poor mech do? Yes, he was a Senator, but he was a minor one, and he had never had enough political clout to go helm-to-helm with a Winglord, ousted one or not. Starscream had placed blame on one he knew deserved it, and for the next two cycles that he had been under Coldfront's less-than-stable care, he'd barely been able to look at his sire without feeling the murderous rage that threatened to swallow him whole. Two cycles had been all he could stand before he had simply packed up and left, burying himself deep within the ghettos and underground societies of Cybertron. It had been another seven vorns before his sire had managed to track him down and capture him, this time keeping him locked up and denied any form of freedom. Seven vorns of harsh lessons and harsher truths, but he was made all the better for it.

Starscream allowed a small smirk to cross his lips. Oh yes. He doubted very much that anything he did tonight would make him look a warrior – he was too colorful and much too delicate in build for one to immediately think warrior – but there were other ways of being useful in a society that valued warriors above all else, ways that he rather excelled in. This Megatron, the self-styled Lord of the Decepticons, by all reports was an intelligent mech. Not a schooled one, like he was, but canny and keen with a killer's ruthless instinct. He imagined that an intelligent mech would value what he could bring to a union. He absently touched his canopy, behind which rested his mutated spark.

Yes, Megatron would be a fool to pass up what he could offer, especially if the rumors Starscream had heard about a war were true.

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><p><strong>Yes. Again, this will be based on Daenerys Targaryen's story, but will be drastically different in many areas. Again, mostly because Starscream is such a fun character to write - he's a badass who must pretend to be a weakling who has to pretend to be a badass. It's going to be a very delicate dance for him to pull, requiring every last inch of cunning and sly maneuvering, but I think our favorite seeker is up to the challenge. As for Coldfront, well, he's an OC, but he will serve a rather important purpose in this fic. But you're just gonna have to wait to find out. XD<strong>

**RnR?**

**EDIT 06/22/11: As promised to the wonderful PaperBerry and the equally fabulous HighxOnxCrack, I added in some key points in regards to Coldfront's character that I probably should have put in to begin with, but didn't realize I actually needed. I tend to forget that others don't live inside my head, and thus can't make an instant connection between the what the mech is doing/saying and _why _he's doing/saying it. I'll be fixing the other chapters as well, just as soon as I get this stupid document manager to stop reloading randomly on me. XD If there's anything else I forgot to add in explanation wise that you guys really want to see added in, don't hesitate to ask. I'm seriously open to suggestion and advice on this fic, especially 'cause I don't want it to be an exact situational copy of Dany's story in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. I'm doing my best to diversify it, but in the process, I seem to be loosing a few of you. XD  
><strong>


	2. Uncertainty and Pride

**Endgame**

**Part 2: **_**Uncertainty and Pride**_

**Summary:** After the fall of Vos, there was nothing its Winglord could do to reclaim it. Nothing, that is, except to sell his bastard heir to the leader of the Decepticons. Starscream, however, has other ideas. He would not let Coldfront reclaim Vos.

**Fandom:** Transformers

**Continuity:** AU! G1. Pre-Earth.

**Pairing:** Megatron/Starscream

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N:** Wow. I guess you guys like this one. ^^ I'm working rather quickly to get this story done before my muse dies on me – like it has for most of my stories. You should see my Documents folder. There are so many half-finished stories and chapters in there….

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><p>"<em>I think you enjoy the game more if you don't know the rules. Any way, you're on the same page as the referee."<em>

_-Jonathon Davies_

His sire was waiting in the cool shadows of the entry hall, seated on the edge of a ridiculously gaudy fountain, his hand trailing in the unknown amber liquid. Senator Ratbat had earned his wealth primarily through his decision to take advantage of the many trading posts all across the known universe. His tower, as a result, was more of a display of the rarest and most expensive things he dealt in then the home it was supposed to be. Coldfront rose when Starscream approached and looked him over critically. "Stand there," Coldfront told him. "Turn around. Yes. Good. You look…"

"Regal. Strong," Senator Ratbat interrupted, stepping through an archway. He did not offer apologies to his guest for doing so, merely kept his gaze firm on Starscream. "May Primus himself shower you with blessings on this most fortunate day, Lord Starscream," the Senator said joyfully as he approached. He glanced over at Coldfront, smiling crookedly. "Your _heir_ is a vision to behold, Winglord." Starscream privately thought that Ratbat was playing a rather dangerous game, provoking his Sire like that. Acknowledging the illegitimate heir by both a title _and_ his designation before even acknowledging Coldfront was a subtle slap in the facial-plating, especially considering that the Senator _still_ refused to call the Winglord by his designation. "A vision I'm sure Lord Megatron will enjoy."

Coldfront frowned, unhappy with both the subtle insult and the praise being given to a mech he clearly felt didn't deserve it. "He's too small," he replied, disgust in his tone. Starscream hitched his wings back in irritation; Coldfront's gaze sharpened and focused on him as he rested his hand upon the hilt of a sword Senator Ratbat had lent him. It was a warning. "Are you sure that this Lord will want such a scrawny mate? And he's so young; I would think a Decepticon Lord would want more a mech with more ..._experience_."

"Lord Starscream may be young, but he is in his final frame, which makes him old enough," Ratbat told him, not for the first time, apparently choosing to ignore the vulgar meaning behind Coldfront's words and instead answering them in the literal sense. Starscream had been privy to three prior conversations where Coldfront belittled his heir for his youth, slim build, and general lack of experience. He did not think it was out of the question to assume that there had been many more such conversations when he wasn't around. "Look at him, Winglord," Ratbat continued. "Those gleaming wings, arched high and proud and begging to be touched; those deadly claws, perfectly suited for shredding through armor; those crimson optics, cold now, but with the possibilities of burning bright and strong with the fires of war. He is highly intelligent and quick to learn, so he will be able to quickly assimilate himself into the Decepticon culture." There was a small moment of silence, where Ratbat trailed his optics over Starscream's form; Coldfront did not look at all. Ratbat continued, voice gaining a sly note of mischief. "And he is highborn, the _only_ remaining heir to the Winglord of Vos; he will not fail to entrance Lord Megatron." While Ratbat would never come out and say it directly, every response Ratbat had ever given Coldfront when the seeker started his vocal degradation pf Starscream had called Coldfront a blind, deaf, and arrogant fool.

"If you say so," Coldfront murmured, as if in doubt. But his optics were cold, and his grip was hard on the hilt of his borrowed sword. He was not deaf, nor was he blind, Starscream knew. Arrogant, yes, but Ratbat himself was arrogant. His Sire knew he was _pretty_; the mech was pretty much banking on it. But prettiness did not necessarily correlate with worthwhile, especially in his Sire's mind.

"It is _true_, Winglord," Ratbat said, and Starscream could hear the fine tremor of exasperation in the Senator's voice. Again, this was an old argument between them. Starscream smiled slightly – his sire was making no friends amongst Ratbat's household, nor with Ratbat himself. When the time came, Coldfront would find no mercy from that quarter.

They left the Senator's tower, traveling swiftly through the dark streets of Axion. Coldfront kept a sure grip on Starscream's left wing as he usually did nowadays when they went out and about, knowing that if Starscream got it into his head to leave, it would be several vorns before he would be able to catch up with the smaller seeker, if he managed to do so at all. But the grip wasn't necessary this time; Starscream had made up his mind to go through with this; being bonded to Megatron could not be any worse than being kept a prisoner in small rooms with locked windows, unable to fly or even feel the wind against his wings.

"We won't need the whole Decepticon Army," Coldfront murmured quietly to himself. Starscream glanced at him, studied the rising fervent gleam in his Sire's optics, then looked away. "Ten thousand, that would be enough. Vos will rise for its true Lord, and sweep away the groundling filth that dares to contaminate it. And our sister city, Praxus, burns to see Vos avenged." He looked at Ratbat sharply, optics glinting. His grip on Starscream's wing tightened, threatening to puncture the thin armor, and Starscream barely held in the sharp keen of pain as a wave of agony raced through his sensors. "They do, don't they?"

"Yes, Winglord," Ratbat said, smiling sharply as he glanced at the younger seeker. Starscream shook his helm. Ratbat looked away and continued. "They are your distant frame-kin, and long for your return to power." The Senator shrugged. "Or so my agents tell me."

Starscream had no agents to tell him one way or another, but he mistrusted Ratbat's soothing words all the same. His sire was nodding eagerly, though, his grip on Starscream's wing relaxing, and Starscream again smiled slightly. Let the fool fall into the Senator's trap, if indeed there was one.

The six-towered keep of the Decepticons sat alone in a wide clearing on the south-eastern edge of Axion. Though the keep was significantly smaller than most of the buildings in Axion, its dark stone and imposing figure somehow seemed to loom threateningly over the city. There were many such keeps all across Cybertron, most of them built for the Decepticons many vorns ago, when the first Lord had risen to power and had swept a reign of terror and destruction across the whole of Cybertron. The Senate had been quick to agree to a divided Cybertron, and most of the southern provinces were under Decepticon rule. Vos, Starscream remembered distantly, had once been considered Decepticon territory (and even longer before that it had belonged to the Autobots), before a Winglord had wrested control of Vos, Praxus, Xius and other, smaller cities such as Tarn from control of both the Senate _and_ the Decepticons.

"This keep was heavily modeled after Darkmount in Polyhex," Ratbat told them, " and had been given to the previous Lord by my own sire. The mechs of Axion have always been generous towards the Decepticons." His tone was vainglorious, smug even. "It is not that we fear them," Ratbat explained with a smile, though Starscream easily saw the lie in those words. "Axion could hold its own again the entire might of the Decepticon Armada … yet why take chances, when their friendship comes so cheap?"

They were stopped at the gate by a guard bearing the crimson optics of a war-build and the purple crest of the Decepticons. The guard looked them over coldly, sneering in disdain when his optics came to rest on the Senator. Ratbat growled something to him in a language Starscream did not know; the guard replied in the same rough manner, then waved them through the gates.

Inside the keep, the air was heavy with the scents of spiced energon, multiple varieties of waxes and polishes, and the soft, musky undertone of lubricants. They were escorted across the entrance hall, past a line of giant statues, each bearing a strong likeness to each other. Ratbat noticed his scrutiny of one of them – a strong, heavily-built warrior with a chiseled face that, while not handsome in any classical sense, had to it some quality that was strangely appealing – and smiled. "The long line of Decepticon Warlords, Lord Starscream," he murmured softly enough that only Starscream heard him. "The Decepticons do not believe in allowing the corpses of their Elite to rust and rot in dank tombs; they smelt the bodies of the honored dead so that their metal might be reused for those that come behind them, and statues are raised so that later generations may see for themselves the glory of their lives." Starscream gaze left the statue as he hummed softly in thought. It was an interesting practice, certainly less wasteful then what the Autobots did with _their_ dead.

Finally, they reached the throne room. A femme – and Starscream was not the only one to be surprised at the sight of one of the rarest breed of Cybertronian wearing a Decepticon crest – called out their coming. "Coldfront, Winglord of Vos," she almost sang in a sweet alto. "Former Commander of the Cybertronian Air Force and Keeper of the Free Provinces. His only heir, Lord Starscream, future Winglord. Graduate with Honors from the Iacon Academy of the Sciences and Deep-Space Explorer First Class. Their honorable host, Senator Ratbat of Axion."

They stepped past the femme and into the crowd of watching warriors. Ratbat showed them around with the ease of one who had been there many a time, pointing out various mechs and giving names and specialties and ranks. Eventually, Ratbat pulled them both aside and pointed out two mechs on either side of the empty throne on the raised dais at the very back of the room. "Those are two of Lord Megatron's lieutenants. The mono-optic is Shockwave, his Chief Officer of the Sciences." Ratbat gave Starscream a warning look. "That mech is bound by logic, but also lacks any and all moral coding. Do not make an enemy of him, and resist any and all attempts he makes to get you alone. It is said that he is highly curious of the seeker build; that you are to be his Lord's bonded mate will only slow him for a short while."

Starscream studied the purple mech with no face, noting absently that a mech bound by logic was going to be perhaps one of the easiest marks he had ever played. He smirked, enjoying the thought. Science could not be solely based on logic, after all. Intuition, instinct, and sheer insanity often played their roles as well. It was the other one, the blue one that was staring straight at Starscream, that made him nervous. "And the other one, the true threat?" he asked quietly.

Ratbat nodded. "You have a keen eye to have picked that up so quickly. You will do well here, I think." The senator smiled. "That is Soundwave, a Cassette-Carrier model. He is Lord Megatron's Third in Command and Chief Communications Officer." Ratbat turned his gaze to Starscream. "He is also a known technopath, and rumor has it he is also a telepath."

Starscream hissed, slightly. One or the other was bad enough, but both? Technopaths had the unfortunate ability to control any machine through a physical or mental linkup; this ability also spilled over onto the weak-willed of Cybertronian society. Telepaths, on the other hand, didn't need a linkup. All they required was a direct optic-to-optic visual feed, and they were in your cortex, reading your thoughts and, if they were strong enough, the very coding that made up a mechs personality and thought matrices. If they were strong enough to do that, there was little anyone could do to prevent them from _changing_ those codes. While technopaths were generally avoided, but mostly accepted, telepaths tended to be executed upon discovery, which meant that this Soundwave, if he _was_ a telepath, had been very careful not to let hard-proof get out, _or_, as was more likely, enjoyed the personal protection of this Lord Megatron.

Ratbat pointed over toward the left. "That mech there is Hook, Lord Megatron's Chief Medical Officer and the Voice of his Gestalt." Starscream looked, but was not interested. A medical officer of any sort had certain vows they had to take; Starscream had little to fear from him. The rest of his gestalt, however, was a different story, but they didn't appear to be here. "And over there," the senator's hand pointed slightly to the right of Hook, "is one of many who are vying for the position of Air Commander and Second in Command. He is designated Thundercracker."

This last mech caught Coldfront's attention in addition to his own. "A seeker?"

"Yes," Ratbat smiled. "Raised in Vos under your rule, no less."

"What is he doing here?" Coldfront asked studying the seeker, noting the things Starscream had already seen. The breadth of the wings and the ease with which this lone seeker's carriage signified a very strong individual who did not particularly need a Trine to cover his back. The slightly odd design of his frame indicated a custom upgrade, designed to help him fight when land-locked, without taking away from his ability to fly.

"Emirate Crossfade wanted his spark," Ratbat told them. "Some trifling affront he committed shortly after you were driven out."

"I shall wish to speak with him before the night is over with," Coldfront murmured, optics bright with interest. Any mech who managed to torque the usurper was a mech Coldfront wanted in his service, Starscream knew.

He sighed. The other seeker had obviously already made a new place for himself, if he had been traveling with the Decepticons without incident. He didn't think Coldfront had a chance in hell of convincing Thudercracker to serve him, especially if the seeker was trying to earn a position in the Decepticon Army. He studied this other seeker, noting the bright blue of his paint-scheme and the intelligent gaze that studied the others around him; quiet and still and patient, but not predatory. He was still looking at this seeker who had been raised in a land Starscream could hardly remember when the Senator brushed his arm slightly.

"Over there, Lord Starscream," he whispered, "there is the Lord Megatron himself."

Starscream obediently turned his gaze towards the mech he was to bond. His spark both trembled in fear and burned with anticipation; Megatron was everything he had expected him to be, and nothing like his expectations at all. The mech was tall, very tall, taller even then Skyfire had been, and with just enough bulk to his frame to trick the optic into thinking he was smaller. Despite his size, the mech was also somehow light on his pedes, moving with a quiet, slick grace Starscream had seen only in the large predator cats in Ratbat's organic menagerie. The Lord Megatron was younger then Starscream had thought he'd be, no more than 40 vorns of age, and he carried himself with the air of one long accustomed to absolute obedience. His plating was the cold silver of moon-lit steel and the blackest void of true color Starscream had only seen in black holes. And his _optics_…. Starscream shivered at the sight of them, unable to help the instinctual fear that crossed his spark. Those optics burned with all the foretold fires of Unicron's Pit, a barely contained promise of violence, and a passion for life that, even witnessing it across the room, left Starscream trembling. What would it be like to join with this mech? What would it be like to be stripped down completely of all falsehoods and to have every last secret of his overturned and bared for the sight of this mech?

"I must go and make my submissions," Ratbat said, seemingly unaware of Starscream's sudden reticence. "Wait here. I shall bring him to you."

As soon as Ratbat was gone, his sire took him harshly by the wing, dragging him into the shadows where they wouldn't be easily seen. "Don't you dare screw this up, Starscream," Coldfront hissed, sharply squeezing the tip of his wing. Starscream's wings had long been a favorite spot for Coldfront's ire – some odd quirk of coding had given Starscream nearly triple the usual sensor-net of a seeker. While this benefited Starscream in that no flier could match his speed, agility, and precision in the air, this also made his wings so sensitive to touch that even lightly scraping them left burning trails of agony tearing through his senses.

"I don't want to bond him," Starscream made himself say. He looked at Megatron; the Lord's face was hard and cruel in design, but no less appealing because of it. His sire hurt him sometimes, but he did not frighten him the way that mech did; his Sire did not provoke such strong reactions in him by just standing in the same room. "_Please_, sire. I don't want to do this. I want to go home."

"Home?" Coldfront kept his voice low, but Starscream could not miss the fury in the tone. "How are we to go home, my little bastard? Hmm?" he asked, meaning, of course, Vos, the city whose memory haunted him at every turn.

Starscream had not meant Vos. Vos was _nothing_ to him, except an empty ideal and a false promise of hope. When Starscream spoke of home, he had meant Skyfire, because only with Skyfire had he ever felt comfortable enough to relax: _Skyfire_ was home, but now there was no home for him. He would have to settle for his rooms in Ratbat's estate. Though it was no true home, it was all he had at the moment, but his sire did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Vos was the only place Coldfront would ever call home.

"I don't know," he said at last, already resigning himself to what would surely come. He hated Coldfront, loathed him with all the strength of his blackened spark, but he was not yet ready to deal with the older seeker. Though he was in his final frame, it would take at least another orn or two before his systems had properly integrated, especially considering all the little side adjustments he had implemented in his programming when Coldfront wasn't around to stop him.

"I do," Coldfront said sharply. "We go home with an army. With _Megatron's_ army. And if you must bed him and fuck him for that, you will." He smiled at Starscream, and the smile was sickening in its false sweetness. "I'd let his whole army fuck you if need be, bastard, all four-hundred thousand of them, if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it's just the one. Now stand up straight and be the charming mech I know you can be – Ratbat is coming with Megatron, and he will _not_ see you acting like a spoiled sparkling not getting his way." Coldfront released his wing and stepped away from Starscream, hand again coming to rest on his borrowed sword.

Starscream looked and saw that it was true. Senator Ratbat, smiling enigmatically, was escorting Lord Megatron over to where they stood. Starscream straightened his posture, angled his wings high and proud, and forced a slightly cocky smirk to cross his thin lips. He absently fingered his own blade, well hidden in the superfluous armor Coldfront had commissioned to make his frame appear more bulky. (Not that it worked; no amount of extra armor could disguise just how slim he was, though he didn't complain about having to wear it as without the extra armor he thought he looked more like a femme.)

"Impress him," Coldfront whispered urgently, his optics bright and fevered. "Let him look at you and see strength and power in your small frame, though Primus knows you have none."

Starscream twitched his claws irritably, and stepped out of the shadows, his cocky smirk bright and bold as he challengingly met Megatron's burning gaze. "Lord Megatron," he greeted calmly.

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><p><strong>Hmmm. And now our boys have met, sorta. I'm on a roll, and am already starting the next chapter. I don't think this will be a particularly long story, so hopefully it will be completed before October. There will be two IntermissionsInterludes, one based on Megatron's PoV, the other on Coldfront's PoV. So hopefully you guys will enjoy that. I'm currently debating on whether or not I want Starscream to kill Coldfront simply because he wants to, or if I want Megatron to kill Coldfront for touching what's not his to touch. Decisions, decisions. Or maybe Coldfront will live. Maybe. Depends on what I can do with him. **

**And, yes, Thundercracker AND Skywarp will be in this, and they WILL play important roles. If Starscream is Daenerys, Coldfront Vaserys, and Megatron Khal Drogo, then Thundercracker equals...? And Skywarp's role is gonna be a surprise. ^^ (But I will say this - think about Daenerys, and who gets her to make Khal Drogo "happy".) **

**RnR?**

**EDIT 06/22/11: As promised to the wonderful PaperBerry and the equally fabulous HighxOnxCrack, I added in some key points in regards to Coldfront's character that I probably should have put in to begin with, but didn't realize I actually needed. I tend to forget that others don't live inside my head, and thus can't make an instant connection between the what the mech is doing/saying and _why _he's doing/saying it. I'll be fixing the other chapters as well, just as soon as I get this stupid document manager to stop reloading randomly on me. XD If there's anything else I forgot to add in explanation wise that you guys really want to see added in, don't hesitate to ask. I'm seriously open to suggestion and advice on this fic, especially 'cause I don't want it to be an exact situational copy of Dany's story in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. I'm doing my best to diversify it, but in the process, I seem to be loosing a few of you. XD**


	3. To Be Bound

**Endgame**

**Part 3: **_**To Be Bound**_

**Summary:** After the fall of Vos, there was nothing its Winglord could do to reclaim it. Nothing, that is, except to sell his bastard heir to the leader of the Decepticons. Starscream, however, has other ideas. He would not let Coldfront reclaim Vos.

**Fandom:** Transformers

**Continuity:** AU! G1. Pre-Earth.

**Pairing:** Megatron/Starscream

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N: **The next portion, where things are finally beginning to truly diverge from Daeneyrs's story. Like I said, I'm on a roll, and will be updating this as fast as I can. Though the next chapter might be late in coming - I've just been diagnosed with Strep Throat, and according to my doctor, I'll soon have a raging fever and an insane need to sleep. I don't doubt him. **  
><strong>

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><p>"<em>My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved. Do you suppose I care? A poor fool indeed is he who adopts a manner of thinking for others!"<em>

_-The Marquis de Sade_

Lord Megatron, after two cycles of Ratbat directing careful negotiation, agreed to bond with Starscream, and left to make the proper arrangements, leaving Starscream to wait with slight fear and much anticipation. Megatron had summoned the entire might of the Decepticon Army to bear witness to the union, every last soldier at his disposal, all four hundred thirty-seven thousand of them, and each had brought their mates, younglings, and slaves. Outside the city walls they had set up camp, making the population of Axion and her sister cities Altrix and Polyhex more anxious with each passing orn. Megatron had joined his army there, making the preparations and, quite possibly, forcefully dealing with any that did not approve of the union; Coldfront and his 'entourage' had been given the Keep to use until the day of the bonding ceremony.

"My fellow senators have doubled the size of their city guard," Ratbat told them one evening as they sat through yet another party held in Starscream's honor, this one hosted by one of Megatron's many generals, and just about as dry and idiotic as the previous three parties had been. The Decepticons, at least, appeared to be having fun.

Thundercracker laughed, at ease now that he had had three cubes of high-grade. "Best we get the young Lord bonded quickly before they trade away half their wealth to mercenaries," he joked. The exile from Vos while not accepting Coldfront's proposition of service on the night Starscream had been successfully sold to Megatron, _had_ agreed to accompany them for a short while, and had been a near-constant companion ever since. Starscream was suspicious, but privately admitted that having another seeker only a few vorns older than him who was sane and healthy was actually kind of pleasant; especially considering the older seeker was rather intelligent and quickly caught on to the subtle tension between Sire and Heir, and made no move to either interfere or taunt Coldfront on his behavior like Ratbat did.

While Ratbat, also mildly overcharged, laughed lightly at the joke, Coldfront did not so much as smile. "He can have the brat tomorrow," the Winglord said. He glanced over at Starscream, who met his gaze and smiled sharply, bearing sharp denta. "So long as he remembers to pay the price." Starscream sighed and went back to staring at the same cube of high-grade he'd been nursing all night. His Sire was, if not overcharged, well on his way to being so. He was going to be an absolute aft tonight, Starscream knew it. Well, at least only Thundercracker and Ratbat would be privy to it.

Ratbat waved a hand languidly, dismissing the subtle threat. "I have told you, Winglord, that all is settled. Lord Megatron has accepted the deal; he has promised you Vos, and you will have it."

Coldfront hissed, optics glinting madly as he bared his own sharp denta at the senator. "Yes, but _when_?"

Ratbat laughed, not even remotely afraid, though he should have been. "When he so chooses," he said, grinning. "He will bond Lord Starscream first, of course, and after they are bound he must return to Kaon and properly present him as the new Lord Consort at Kolkular, as is tradition. After that, perhaps." There was a sly glance, and then an enigmatic, "If their omens favor war."

"Damn their useless traditions and pointless omens!" Coldfront seethed, standing slightly to tower over their small group. "With each passing day, that usurping Emirate gets more and more comfortable in his rule of _my_ city! How much longer must I wait?"

Ratbat shrugged, unconcerned. "You have waited nearly the entirety of your heir's life. What are another few cycles, another few vorns?"

Thundercracker, who had been traveling with the Decepticons since he had been exiled, nodded in agreement. "I counsel you to be patient, Winglord," he tried to soothe, voice calm and rational. "The Lord Megatron has always been true to his word, but he does things as he wishes, _when_ he wishes to do so. A lesser mech may beg a favor from him, but do not _dare_ to presume to demand him."

Coldfront reached out and backhanded the blue seeker before anyone could stop him. "Mind your words, seeker, or I'll rip your vocalizer out." A dark, crazed grin settled on his facial-platting as an equally crazed gaze settled on his heir. "Just ask my bastard, if you think I won't." His gaze turned back to the exile who was staring stonily back at him, good mood long gone. "I am no _lesser_ mech. I _am_ the Winglord of the Vos, Keeper of the Free Provinces, and I **do not **_**beg**_."

Thundercracker stared at him silently for a long moment, before lowering his head and wings in visual submission, while Ratbat simply took a long sip from his energon. Starscream alone saw the way the blue seeker's hands clenched, claws digging into plating and tiny drops of energon dripping from the resulting wounds. A careful glance around told him that their conversation was not as private as he had thought it would be; many Decepticons around them were covertly watching Coldfront, their facial-plating alive with disgust and anger. Some, however, were watching _him_, optics keen and bright and searching, easily spotting the faint scaring on his own neck where, indeed, Starscream could vouch for his sire's skill in destroying a mech's vocalizer.

Starscream did not for an instant doubt that Megatron would hear of this; both his sire's lack of patience and open disrespect for his only heir. He had been foolish to let Coldfront indulge in as much high-grade as he had; Starscream wondered what Megatron would think of bartering a portion of his army for a mech that was not as highly cherished as he had been led to believe. He remembered that molten gaze and how it seemed to _know_ him, and shivered, automatically reaching for the high-grade he had been ignoring for much of the evening. He was torn between his fear and his desire. He feared this Lord Megatron, feared the depth of a response the Decepticon Lord could wring from him with just a look. At the same time, the mere thought of just _what_ responses that mech could wring from him set his spark aflame within his chest, whirring and spinning in eager anticipation and a depth of _want_ he hadn't known he was capable of.

There were ten more parties to attend, each thrown by someone of some vague importance within the army, and in between them, several long, private conversations with his mate-to-be, where they negotiated their own terms after Megatron had pried the truth of things from his reluctant lips. Sure enough, Megatron had heard of Coldfront's _interesting_ statements, and had not been pleased, especially when careful scrutiny of his own had identified more heavy scaring then just the one on his neck. Starscream had been equally furious and admiring at how well he had been played; he hadn't even realized what he had been revealing until it was entirely too late to take the words back; hadn't realized just how far Megatron had pushed him until he was standing as tall as he could, spark and optics blazing, wings hiked as high as they could go, claws _embedded_ in the broad chassis, hissing out the vilest obscenities he knew. He had been laughed at then, but by the end of their last conversation the night before they were to be bonded, Megatron hadn't been laughing any longer.

And then, finally, it was time for his bonding ceremony.

The party – for it was more like a party than any ceremony Starscream had ever attended – began promptly at dawn and continued until dusk, an endless day of drinking and fighting and, as he would soon find out, 'facing. A great multi-level dais had been raised at one edge of the field, and there the seating arrangement would have baffled his Vosnian upbringing had he not been warned beforehand. Starscream had been led to sit at the top upon a plainly adorned throne, much smaller than his soon-to-be mate's, but significant in its placement of _beside_ instead of below or behind. Megatron sat beside him on his own throne, watching the seething mass of Decepticons. Starscream had never seen this many mechs in one location before, and they were all strange and frightening and fascinating, their culture strange but vaguely appealing to what senses he had that were not preoccupied by the behemoth beside him.

Directly one level below him sat Shockwave and Soundwave, the both of them frigid, silent, and passively disapproving. Starscream was not deaf, and had heard the fierce but quiet argument between Lord Megatron and his two most trusted lieutenants. They thought him weak, and thought he would make Megatron weak; Starscream allowed himself a small smirk at the absurdity. The day he made _that_ mech weak was the day Primus decided to publicly smite the Autobots.

Coldfront was seated two levels below him, alongside Thundercracker and Senator Ratbat. Theirs was a place of high honor in the Decepticon culture, a place that as outsiders they should have been thankful for, but one would have to be blind to miss the anger lining his sire's face. His Sire saw himself as equal in rank to Megatron, and as such should have been placed in equal setting, as was customary in Vos when dignitaries equal in rank in their own cultures visit. In keeping with this, Megatron's lieutenants were correctly positioned on the second level, however Ratbat, as a senator representing the Autobot territories but not an equal in rank with a Winglord or, say, a Prime, should have been seated with them. Starscream, as a bastard who would normally have *no* rank in Vosnian elite society despite his current status of heir _but_ who was to be bonded to a mech of high rank, should have been the one seated on the third level. Starscream knew his Sire thought he was being dishonored by being placed below a mech of lower rank. Coldfront probably wouldn't have been as irked if he had been placed on the second level and Starscream on the third, signifying him as lesser in rank to Megatron but higher than Starscream, but not only was Starscream placed above him, he was visually made Megatron's equal in rank in that he was seated directly _beside_ the Decepticon Lord in his own throne, not forced to sit on the floor like an honored pet, or even placed behind Megatron in the traditional place of a foreign consort.

To add insult to injury, the Decepticon slaves offered Lord Megatron and his bondmate-to-be the best of the many vintages of high-grade and energon-sweets, and served the Winglord from the portions the two refused. However, surrounded by Decepticons loyal only to Megatron, Coldfront could do nothing but nurse his resentment and frustration, and nurse it he did, much to Starscream's continued amusement.

Despite the petty amusement he found in his Sire's suffering, he was bored. There was no one to talk to. Megatron seemed determined to say absolutely nothing – the Decepticon Lord alternatively watched his mechs and lost himself in obvious trains of heavy thought as he contemplated the high-grade he was drinking – and Thundercracker and Ratbat, the only other two mechs he'd _want_ to converse with at this point, were too far below for him to be properly heard over the noise of the party. So he sat on his admittedly comfortable throne, nursing a single cube of high-grade, watching the Decepticons get good and smashed as they bellowed jokes and threats in equal measures, and generally loosing himself in mild fantasies of what would happen later. That the mech he was fantasizing about was seated right next to him did not bother him at all; he had great control over his energy field, and no one not intimate with the way it would naturally fluctuate would be any wiser to what he was actually feeling.

The first cycle of the day was barely over when the first Decepticon died. Some kind of music with an exceptionally heavy beat was playing, and the lither mechs and the few femmes were dancing in ways Starscream had never seen outside a brothel or an underground club. The bulkier warriors were watching intently, and finally one of them stepped out and grabbed a dancer by the arm, tossing the slim mech to the ground, forcing his interfacing panel open, and taking the mech right there in front of any who cared to look. Ratbat had warned Starscream about that. _"The Decepticons are a brutish breed who live by the adage of 'might makes right'. There is hardly anything like the courting you are undoubtedly used to – mechs will fight practically to death one moment and then wind up bonding in the next, if indeed they choose to bond. They have no shame when it comes to the pursuit of pleasure."_

Starscream watched the coupling intently, noting the secret smile the smaller mech wore before pleasure replaced it and the possessive hold the larger mech had on the smaller one's hips. The pair was quickly joined by yet another pairing, and then another, and then another, and soon it was to the point where it no longer mattered if Starscream wanted to look away or not, as there _was_ no place to look without seeing at least one pair or group interfacing.

And then there was a shout, followed by a furious roar, as two mechs seized the same dancer – a femme this time – and in less than a second, one of the mechs was on the ground, a sizable hole in his rapidly-graying frame. Slaves carried off the body, and the mech swung his properly admiring prize into his arms and left. The party never once paused. Ratbat had warned him about that as well. _"A Decepticon party without at least one death is considered an exceptionally dull affair; a Decepticon Lord's bonding ceremony is usually especially high on the obituaries."_ Indeed, this ceremony must have been blessed, as over a hundred mechs were dead before the day was over.

When at last the sun was low in the sky, Lord Megatron stood and clapped his hands together, and immediately the music and the dancing and the fighting and the 'facing came to an abrupt end. Megatron turned slightly and pulled Starscream to his pedes beside him. Starscream sighed, wings flicking in irritation. It was time for the gifts.

His sire gifted him with a slave of his own. Starscream knew that the purple seeker had not cost Coldfront a thing; Ratbat had no doubt provided him. Skywarp was an energetic seeker only a vorn older than himself, with ample combat training, but who had spent most of his life as a pleasure-bot. The seeker could also teleport, a skill Starscream could already tell would be highly useful in the future.

Thundercracker had apologized for his gift. "It is a small thing, young Lord, but it is all an exile without a job can afford," he said as he handed over a small pile of datapads. Curious, he had turned one of them on, and his spark clenched. It was a collection of the histories of Vos, complete with vid-files and pictures, as it had been while under a Winglord's rule. While Starscream could honestly say that he cared not one bit for the reclaiming of Vos, it was still nice to know of the place where he had come from, unbiased by his sire's fanatical ranting. Smiling faintly, he thanked the blue seeker, who simply bowed and backed away.

The lines of gifts continued, mounting up in large piles around him as the Decepticons rushed to give a token of their (somewhat forced) approval. Weapons were the main gift of choice – Starscream now had more blades and guns and bombs and poisons than he knew what to do with, his favorite of all of them a stunningly crafted electro-whip that had a clever design of inter-locking cables capable of detaching and re-attaching at the users will – closely followed by data-pads on the Decepticon's history, culture, beliefs, and various hierarchies. There were the customary polishes, waxes, and cleansers, some vintage brews of high-grade and artfully-decorated energon goodies, and one shy femme presented an original landscape of Old Vos by the highly regarded artist Sunstreaker that must have cost her a fortune. Most of the gifts, however, were rather useless, and Starscream was already planning on how to dispose of them without offending those whom presented the gifts.

And last of all, Lord Megatron brought forth his own gift. An expectant hush rippled out from the center of the camp as he left Starscream's side, growing until the silence had swallowed the whole army. When he returned, the dense press of Decepticon warriors parted before him, and he led two trines of seekers to the dais. A knowing smirk crossed the Lord's harsh facial platting as he deliberately ignored the outraged Winglord on the third step of the dais.

"I take you for my Lord Consort, despite the insult given to me and mine by your sire, who bargained in false faith," the Decepticon started, deep, rasping tone speaking the formal language of Iacon, a language that most of the mechs present, including his sire, did not understand. His gaze was firm and burning on Starscream. He gestured to the seekers behind him. "These I present to you, warriors all, to teach you the ways of our kind and to guard you where I can not go."

Starscream cocked his helm to the side, considering. There was a world of meaning in those words, more than just what Megatron had said. Iacos **(1)** was tricky like that; the formulaic and almost ritualistic language was next to impossible to lie in, resulting in generations upon generations of lateral meanings being heaped upon phrases, each meaning different depending on the exact order of the words used. Further compounding the difficulties of the language was the sincere, if remote, possibility that the mech speaking Iacos meant the words in their literal translations. He glanced very briefly at his sire, and suddenly couldn't help himself. He tossed his helm back and laughed, full and true for the first time since Skyfire had died. He calmed, eventually, and smiled brilliantly at Megatron, whose expression was …not pleasant. Perhaps he should not have broken into laughter just after the Lord had presented his gift.

"My Lord," he started in the same language, tone still bubbling with his previous mirth. He smiled crookedly. "I make no apologies for my amusement; you have given me everything I had ever wanted the second those first words passed your lips. To have someone call my sire on his behavior, to treat him as he _is_, and not as he _was_, has made my day." He glanced at the two trines, and flicked his wings in greeting, humming slightly when the small greeting was returned. "I thank you for your fine gift, though I think you and many others will be surprised at just how little I will need to be guarded."

Confusion crossed the faces of many, the few who _did_ understand what was being said were scoffing at what they saw as a cocky lordling boasting, but Megatron simply stared at him for a long moment before a strange smile crossed his lips. "Then it is agreed?" the Decepticon Lord asked, abruptly switching to Cybertronian Standard.

Starscream again glanced at his sire, who was watching them interact with fury and mild concern. He smiled, pleased at this unexpected turn of events. To think, Coldfront had sold him to get Vos back under his rule…. Little did he realize he would never set wing or pede in Vos again. "Yes," Starscream said clearly, also switching, "It is agreed."

Megatron turned his burning gaze onto Soundwave. The telepath stood silently for a long moment, then nodded once. "It will be done," the mech said.

Megatron gave no sign he heard, gaze once again fixed upon Starscream, who was still standing at the top of the dais. He held one hand out, palm up, and Starscream did not hesitate to descend the dais and join the Decepticon Lord, taking the offered hand with only the barest hint of hesitance. The Decepticons would stay here and party through the night, he knew, while he and the Decepticon Lord would return to the Decepticon Keep to seal the bond. A side glance at the powerful frame beside him, and he suddenly couldn't wait.

This promised to be a night of much enjoyment.

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><p><strong>Oh, I'm such a stinker. XD Almost every character I've mentioned by name so far in this story is plotting in one way or another – and one of Starscream's gifts will turn out to be rather important later on. See if you can guess which one. I'll give you a hint: it's not Skywarp, though he is important. <strong>

**I've also made up my mind on what I'm gonna do about Coldfront, and it was influenced by both anonybot and Starfire201. Only one hint on that front as well: bargaining in false faith is not a good idea when the one you're bargaining with is a Decepticon Lord. There will be repercussions.**

**The two trines Megatron gave Starscream are the Coneheads and the Rainmakers, and they are third-generation Decepticon seekers. They were given because not only would they be able to teach Starscream the Decepticon ways better than any datapad could, but they could also guard Starscream when Megatron could not; not everyone is happy that Megatron is bonding an outsider who is barely old enough to do so. Those that disapprove do so either because they want Megatron for themselves, or because they don't know what Starscream is capable of – Megatron himself doesn't know what Starscream is truly capable of, but he does have an idea. **

**Depending on whether or not I can get it to work without it sounding as awkward as it has been so far, I'm going to be posting the first Interlude next, and it will be from Megatron's PoV. You'll get his interpretation on events, in addition to some snippets from the conversations that I've mentioned but didn't go into detail on. **

**And by the way, provided I can get the Interlude to work the way I want it to, the sexytimes will be in that. XD**

**RnR?**

**EDIT 06/21/11: Thanks to PaperBerry for reminding me that Darkmount is actually in Polyhex, and telling me what the capital of Kaon was. I never knew that bit of information. XD**

**EDIT 06/22/11: As promised to the wonderful PaperBerry and the equally fabulous HighxOnxCrack, I added in some key points in regards to Coldfront's character that I probably should have put in to begin with, but didn't realize I actually needed. I tend to forget that others don't live inside my head, and thus can't make an instant connection between the what the mech is doing/saying and _why _he's doing/saying it. I'll be fixing the other chapters as well, just as soon as I get this stupid document manager to stop reloading randomly on me. XD If there's anything else I forgot to add in explanation wise that you guys really want to see added in, don't hesitate to ask. I'm seriously open to suggestion and advice on this fic, especially 'cause I don't want it to be an exact situational copy of Dany's story in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. I'm doing my best to diversify it, but in the process, I seem to be loosing a few of you. XD****  
><strong>


	4. Interlude 1: Megatron

**Endgame**  
><strong>Summary:<strong> After the fall of Vos, there was nothing its Winglord could do to reclaim it. Nothing, that is, except to sell his bastard heir to the leader of the Decepticons. Starscream, however, has other ideas. He would not let Coldfront reclaim Vos.  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Transformers  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> AU! G1. Pre-Earth.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Megatron/Starscream  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong> I own nothing.  
><strong>AN:** Sorry this took so long. July, August, and September just weren't my months. Everything started going wrong, starting with the strep throat, followed by a severe inner-ear infection, followed by an abscessed tooth, another ear infection, sun poisoning, a car accident, and then I ended up slicing my hand open in several spots. I'm now _missing_ a chunk out of my palm. Just a note for people: If you're a klutz, never volunteer to carry a case of alcohol into the house. It ends up rather badly.

As for why this took so long to update, aside from the fact that I've been existing in a semi-miserable cloud of medicated euphoria, I've also been friggin' struggling with this damn interlude. Megatron is not the easiest mech for me to write, and it's even more complicated this time because he's not the tyrannical despot of the G1 series (yet). I'm hoping that I managed to do him justice here, and I also hope you guys think this was worth the wait. ^^ The next real chapter should be posted in a couple days. All that's left on it is some revision and spell-checking.

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><p>"<em>He alone is an acute observer, who can observe minutely without being observed."<em>

_- John Kaspar Lavater_

Megatron stood, silent and still, watching his mechs as they enjoyed this party to their fullest. Around them moved the outcasts and rejects from all over Cybertron, hopeful and eager to join the ranks of his army. The fliers, in particular, sought to fill the recently vacated position of Air Commander, if only because the Air Commander of the Decepticon Army was automatically the Second in Command. He noted those that looked promising, studied the way they moved and the way they interacted with those around them. Some were dismissed as useless after only a few seconds of watching, others were considered noteworthy, with a small mental reminder for Soundwave to do background checks to ensure suitability, before he turned his attention to other matters.

Like the Autobot senator wandering around his keep, pointing out the elite in his army with uncanny ease to his two guests of honor. Ratbat was a fool who was rapidly loosing his usefulness – he walked as if he owned the place, as if the Decepticons could be bought by his useless platitudes and gifts rendered in the past. Ratbat's sire had commissioned this keep for Megatron's sire, but Ratbat had made no such gift to _him_. Megatron had not pressed the issue, not yet, but it was only a matter of time before the Senator pressed his luck. And his 'honored' guests…

Megatron sneered slightly, not impressed. The older of the two, the ousted Winglord of Vos, was a coward at heart. It was written in every movement the over-sized seeker made; the way his optics constantly rotated, looking for a threat that wasn't there; the way he placed his only heir ahead of him, to be used as a shield if things went wrong. That seeker was highly mistaken if he thought Megatron was going to place _any_ of his soldiers under his control, especially when all the seeker was offering in return was his scrawny heir. The smaller seeker was very obviously still integrating his final frame; clearly he hadn't even had his first heat-cycle yet. What was Megatron to do with an inexperienced youngling? Especially a spoiled lordling with no idea of just what it meant to be a Decepticon? He had half the mind to simply kill the pair and be done with it; he had no use for these pointless political maneuverings and subtle snubs.

"_Do you honestly think my sire gives a damn about your power or what you're capable of or even what you **think**? You, my Lord, are a means to an end, same as I. Only whereas my sire **believes** he can control me, he **knows** you are a wild card as far as his plans are concerned, and what does not obey him explicitly cannot be trusted and must therefore be removed." _

Oh, but it was a good thing for all of them that Megatron was such an observant mech.

Careful observation noted the way the smaller seeker's crimson gaze – cold and assessing and utterly devoid of any sign of personality – swept across the room only once, stopping mostly on mechs that even Megatron kept his awareness of, mechs who were dangerous at the best of times because of their power, their skills, or their sheer insanity. Megatron noted that the cold gaze studied each of these mechs carefully, assessed them in a manner that Megatron recognized as similar to the ruthless calculations of Shockwave, and then moved on to the next.

Careful observation noted the way the young seeker moved; economical and resourceful, every moved designed to promote the illusion of weakness and uncertainty, but nevertheless being swift, sure, strong. Megatron's gaze noted the confidence with which the seeker walked – most seekers he had met walked with an odd, bouncing gait as they tried to keep their weight off their delicate thrusters; this seeker's movements, however, were smooth and comfortable, showing an ease with being grounded that belied his frame.

Careful observation also noted the way Ratbat automatically deferred to the young seeker. Ratbat did not offer introductions to Coldfront, Winglord of Vos. Ratbat did, however, take great pains to point out the elite Decepticons to the young lordling, answering questions fully and quickly, all the while pointedly ignoring the Winglord. That Ratbat, a skilled politician with an uncanny knack of 'collecting' the up-and-coming powerhouses even when everyone else dismissed them as useless, would ignore the Winglord in favor of his heir said much.

And then, there in front of him, cocky grin and wings hiked high, clawed hands twitching slightly, was his supposed mate-to-be. The seeker had the bright crimson gaze of the war-builds, but they were cold and distant and assessing, and there was a dark knowledge in that seeker's gaze. His initial appraisal of the seeker had been wrong; this one knew what suffering meant, knew it very well indeed. The voice which calmly greeted him by name was the sharp, brittle sound of glass shattering and the deep groan of metal being torn slowly apart. It was an unpleasant sound, but one that obviously the small seeker had long been used to, and Megatron's keen sight easily noted the heavy scaring on the mech's vocalizer.

"_What do I know of suffering? You arrogant aft! As if you Decepticons have the market cornered on suffering and intolerance at the hands of Autobots! Some of us haven't been as lucky to be sparked to a culture that, despite its harshness, **values** its sparklings. Some of us weren't so lucky to have a roof over our head and energon in our tanks; some of us actually had to **kill** to survive."_

Scaring was a delicate thing with Cybertronians. For the most part, scars were easily gotten rid of; all it took was a visit to any half-way competent medic to have the wounded area completely replaced. For mechs like Starscream, who were just coming through a full-body upgrade, there should be no scaring whatsoever. A blank slate, so to speak. As such, there were two possible explanations to the scaring on the seeker's neck. Some warrior-builds refused to allow a medic to remove their scars – it was a matter of pride and a subtle form of boasting. It was a way to showcase the battles they survived without becoming a braggart. Megatron thought it was stupid, as scaring by nature tended to highlight vulnerable portions on a mech's frame. The other reason, and one that was hardly ever acknowledged, was when the wounds occurred on a sparkling too young to have armored plating. Sparklings didn't typically receive their first upgrade until 6-7 vorns of age, thus making any wounds they received a lot more serious than a similar wound on a youngling as the scaring manifested on the protoform itself, rather than on the armored plating. No matter how many upgrades a mech went through afterwards, the scaring would always manifest once the new armor was integrated.

Megatron was not sure which of the two he preferred. On one hand he had a cocky braggart who nevertheless could apparently handle himself well enough to have survived this far, one the other an abused mech who may or may not have emotional glitching in his programming and may or may not have only survived because his sire hadn't wanted to commit murder. Either choice he had was bad, and not something he wanted attached to his own life-force.

"_What does it matter how I got these scars? I am alive and functioning and plan to do so for quite some time now, no matter what I have to do to remain so. Do I mind being sold like a common slave? More than you know, Megatron. But I have made my peace with my situation in life, and all I can do now is plan my revenge. Know this now: I may be sold like a slave, but I will **not** be one. Not for my sire, and certainly not for **you**. I will be your equal, a bonded mate in **truth**, or you may as well end negotiations now."_

Nevertheless, he went through the negotiations, weighing every word and action with more care than any other decision he'd ever made before; this would not only affect him, but his army and the countless civilians that supported them. If he chose wrongly….well.

Ratbat had been exceedingly careful during the negotiations to be the only one doing the communicating between the two groups. The Winglord had been visibly frustrated and had fidgeted through most of the talks, optics occasionally gaining a fevered gleam before settling into their usual calculating glare. The younger seeker sat silent and still, facial plating and optics as blank and lifeless as any off-lined mech. He was also visibly not paying any attention whatsoever to the discussions going on. Did the seeker not even care he was being sold like a slave? Or was he used to it? Soundwave hadn't had much time to do background checks on the both of them, but what he had found was interesting in its complete _lack_ of information.

Or, rather, the complete lack of information on _Starscream_. Someone had been very careful to delete any and all records of the young seeker from public domain. Still, a matter of public domain versus sealed records was nothing to his Communications Officer, and he knew he'd have the relevant information sooner or later.

As for right now, Starscream was shaping up to be quite the little enigma and a challenge. Megatron liked challenges. He liked to break them.

And the seeker was good, he had to give him that. In the public eye, Starscream was all cocky, arrogant boasting, proud and sure and so very weak. The seeker took the inherent vulnerability of his slight frame and aerodynamic beauty and had turned it into an art-form, tricking the observer into never looking past his appearance. He even _moved_ like a weakling trying to present a strong front, and that was _not_ an easy trick to perform. He was good, very good indeed, but not good enough. Left alone, and allowed to act naturally, the cocky, arrogant lordling vanished as if he'd never existed. Starscream's posture shifted and relaxed, wings drooped ever-so-slightly into a more natural position, losing the fine trembling that those inexperienced with fliers would mistake as fear-induced, and the emotions which once crossed his facial plating and optics smothered by cold stillness. He became quiet where he once was loud; watchful where once he was inattentive. It was fascinating, and – to be perfectly honest – a little creepy to watch.

"_I could be bothered less about the fate of Vos. I have no spies, no mechs to ferry out information for me, but I am not unobservant and I am not deaf to the conversations around me. I have a reasonably good idea of what's coming, and I know that regardless of any union between us, Vos will not be spared. Good. Burn it to the ground for all I care; all I want, Megatron, is to be assured that Coldfront does not get what **he** wants. I want him shamed and dead, and **I** want to be the one to kill him."_

The day of their bonding had Megatron staring fixedly into his vintage high-grade, trying to ignore the way his seeker's energy-field was flaring ever-so-discreetly. A wry grin crossed his face; Starscream was fantasizing again. There had been many times during their secret meetings over the past couple of orns where he had seriously contemplated killing Coldfront and Ratbat and claiming his feisty little seeker regardless; indeed, he doubted that Starscream would have protested much. Oh, there might have been some bitching, especially considering how eager the small seeker was to spill his sire's energon, but surely it would have been better to deal with that then to present a weak-acting bond-mate as his consort? He risked a small glance at his intended, instantly amused by the intent look on the seeker's elegant facial plating as he studied Decepticons _really_ cutting loose. Megatron would be the first to admit that Decepticons in general were uncivilized and functioned on an almost primal level; Starscream, as an outsider raised alternatively by a Winglord whose arrogance had never been tempered by his insanity and an Autobot who was so soft-sparked he had claimed an obviously abused war-build as his ward, should have been at the very least embarrassed, if not outright repulsed. And the parties his mechs had thrown before – not parties in truth, but rather covert operations to determine how things would progress between him and the barely-legal seeker – had in no way, shape, or form prepared Starscream for the events happening today.

Ah, but his seeker was such a contrary little thing, wasn't he? Megatron turned his gaze back to his energon, outright smiling when he felt the seeker's energy field flare rather tellingly, yet again. Contrary, indeed. Bold when he should be fearful, indifferent when he should be concerned, eager when he should be hesitant. Despite the doubts he'd initially had about the seeker, Megatron was sincerely looking forward to joining sparks with him.

He glanced at his two lieutenants, though his gaze was focused more on Soundwave. Both did not approve of this union, and though both had perfectly logical reasons behind their doubts, only Soundwave's reasons continued to disturb him. Despite his skills in hacking, Soundwave still had yet to find any record of Starscream, including those secret files that where usually only accessible by the Autobot's Black Ops. As far as Cybertronian records went, Starscream didn't exist.

"_I've told you before; though I have no slaves, no spies, I still hear things. Mechs whisper in the dark of a war generations in the making; generations of preparation, planning, and secret alliances to make the mighty Decepticons strong and self-reliant all for a goal never talked about, only hinted to. They whisper things, Megatron, and I hear them and I put the little pieces of gossip I hear together and I learn. I learn that the Autobot Senate has grown corrupt and is no longer afraid of showing it; each passing vorn they grow bolder and hungrier. I learn that the last of the Dynasty of Primes is little more than a glorified secretary, and that the Primus-blessed powers that had belonged solely to that line have since faded out. I learn that the Autobot army, or what is left of it, is aging and rusting and waxing poetic about the 'good old days.' In short, my lord, I learn that the time for war is ripe, but you are still missing that one piece to grant victory. You need the fliers under your banner. Not just one or two trines, or even the half-dozen that would answer your call, but all of them. I can give you that piece. I can give you the fliers."_

Megatron led his bond-mate-to-be through the keep and into a set of rooms that had been forbidden entry to his guests. The seeker was quiet and strangely still, though his wings fluttered rapidly and his energy-field pulsed in combined anxiety and want. Starscream felt fragile and delicate in his hands, though he knew the seeker wouldn't break.

He quietly led the seeker over to the berth and waited. Starscream did nothing at first, and then looked at him. There was hunger, deep and raw, in those optics, and fear. "I've never done this before," he admitted quietly. "I know the basic mechanics, but…" he trailed off, shrugging.

Megatron did not reply. He did not need to. Starscream's quiet admission pleased him immensely – the seeker was his in entirety. He reached out and placed his hand on Starscream's canopy, enjoying the sharp contrast of his large matte-black hand against the shiny gold glass that hid away the seeker's life-force. His spark sang in his own chassis, pulsing greedily with possessive desire.

_His._

He petted the glass as his other hand found one of those all-too tempting wings and started to explore. The seeker shuddered, hard, his optics half-shuttered. He murmured softly in a language Megatron did not know, the lilting tongue turning Starscream's normally brittle voice into something almost pleasing to hear. He walked forward slowly, backing Starscream up until the seeker hit the berth and fell backwards, landing sprawled decadently, gazing up at him with optics that were starting to burn bright and hot. Starscream stretched out languidly, deliberately putting his body on display for him, and Megatron could not help the deep rumble that escaped him.

"Careful, little seeker," he said, hands coming to rest on those glorious wings as he leaned down, chassis-to-canopy, face-to-face, lips almost close enough to kiss. "Keep that up, and I might forget to be gentle."

Starscream playfully flared his energy-field, smirking slightly when Megatron involuntarily growled. "Who said I want gentle?" the seeker purred, clawed fingers and long, supple legs winding their way around the Warlord, trapping him, pulling him closer. "Maybe I want you to lose control and _take_ me," he whispered against Megatron's lips.

Megatron had to forcefully remind himself that this was Starscream's first time; regardless of what he said, the seeker did not know what it was, exactly, he was asking for. Still, the idea had merit. "Time enough for that later," he purred, one hand leaving a wing and trailing down to the seeker's pelvic plating. He stroked it lightly, smirking when Starscream cried out, entire body jerking sharply under the force of what he was feeling. Megatron had never had a berth-mate so responsive to his touch. "Now open for me."

He pressed hard against the panel. Starscream's vents roared to life as his core temperature skyrocketed; the seeker cried out again and writhed, clawed fingers digging deeply into Megatron's plating as his fingers spasmed, optics shuttered tightly. A soft click, barely heard over the sound of the seeker's fans, and the seeker's port was bared to his touch. "Good seeker," he purred, even as his fingers deftly began exploring the new territory. He quickly found the seeker's seal – proof that he was untouched – before with one sharp jab, he broke it. Starscream cried out, this time in pain. Megaton used his other hand to stroke the wing it rested on, crooning low in his throat as he soothed the jet. Eventually, the lithe body beneath him relaxed, and he continued.

First one finger, then another, carefully stretching the seeker's too-tight port. He watched as Starscream writhed beneath him, watched those optics brighten and dim and shutter and open under the force of what he was feeling, listened as that brittle voice cried and moaned and begged for anything, everything. Megatron was quickly coming to the end of his patience. He added a third finger, scissoring and jabbing, his spark pulsing madly. His spike was fully pressurized, demanding to be buried in the tight heat – but not yet. A fourth finger, and the jet beneath him bucked wildly.

"_**More, Primus damn you, more!" **_Starscream shrieked, completely undone.

Megatron was more than happy to oblige. Removing his hand and settling it back on its rightful place on Starscream's wing, he lined up his spike to the waiting port and thrust, burying himself to the hilt. He paused only a small moment to allow the jet to adjust before moving. Slowly at first, though it took all of his control to do so. Only when Starscream appeared to have caught on to the rhythm, hips finally beginning to move in time with his own, did he begin to speed up.

Starscream's helm tossed back, baring his scarred neck, and Megatron did not waste the opportunity. He began to lick and suckle on the main energon lines, groaning at the feel of that tight port clenching at his spike. So _good_.

But a good interface wasn't all he was here for. He still had a spark to claim and bind to his own. He reared back, groaning, no more able to still the mad thrusting of his hips then he was able to prevent his chassis from slamming open, revealing his crimson spark.

"Open," he gasped out. Starscream did not respond verbally, too lost in the pleasure he was feeling to get anything even remotely resembling words out of his vocalizer. Instead, his answer was the shift of the seeker's canopy sliding back and the cockpit beneath splitting, revealing a brilliant gold spark unlike any Megatron had ever seen before. It whirled violently, a chaotic storm raging far out of control. He hesitated only slightly, before leaning back down.

It took only a second, and then they were connected…

_hunger endless yearning for something unplaced unknown driving him ever onwards ever forward damn every mech that got in his way it was like dark swirling angry hungry black hole devouring everything everyone even his own spark and_

_the wind roared and screamed as he leaped freefall and falling falling the ground rushing closer and closer and he longs to just give up just give in and disappear on this unforgiving alien world and die nameless and unknown away from everything and everyone that did nothing but bring him pain and hatred and sought to use him but_

_he wants to kill he wants to rip and tear and squeeze he wants to see limbs missing and spark bared and guttering and he wants wants **wants**_

_crying screaming pain pain pain and no one to hear no one to listen and why don't you love me I'm yours **I'm yours** your heir your sparkling why am I not **enough**_

_they were watching him devouring him with optics pale and beady practically projecting their base hungers and disgusting desires he clicks his claws so sharp so swift and smiles demurely hungrily back but his hunger is of a different sort another kind altogether and they are fools and prey and don't even realize it_

_tired so tired of stone walls and pinched wings and let him out **let him out** _

_he was stronger than that strong strong he had always been the strong one the better formed the better coded faster than the others capable of thinking circles around his peers able to feel more able to escape the damnable trap of logicality_

_he is watching coding fly across the screen at speeds fast enough to make even his processors ache but he does not slow them **cannot** slow them for they are his codes his very function flashing across this monitor and he has to see them has to know has to find and fix and purge and develop and_

_they are flying soaring on the winds playing spinning courting as only fliers can not saying anything but speaking volumes with every teasing flare of their energy fields as they narrowly avoid colliding with the other _

_blue optics stare at him in firm resolve and soften and love him loves **him** despite not being his keeps him and claims him and he is happy and_

_the ground is close so close he can feel it even though his optics are closed blinded and his sensors are numb fried but he will not die he will not fall he is a seeker he is_

_watching his sire through jaded bloodthirsty hungry optics he watches and likes what he sees he sees insanity and insecurity weakness in every move and every word and he is always watching even when they are apart he can see his sire in his mind and his sire _

_rears back the blows are powerful strong but slow so slow too slow so sorry not a victim not a toy death with wings and a pretty face come closer **come closer let me**_

_fade to nothing and be nothing or rise above and become everything not a hard choice no not a hard one to make at all after all_

_he is finally free finally alive and burning and nothing will ever stop him nothing will ever cage him again again he needed this wanted this desired this and nothing will ever make him give this up never never it is **mine**_

…they broke apart, the ceiling bearing silent witness as Megatron's loud roar echoed deeply against Starscream's high-pitched shriek. Megatron's hands spasmed against Starscream's sensitive wings, grinding and denting the fragile metal. He wasn't aware of this. What he was aware of was the feeling of the terrible brightness and hunger that made up the vast majority of his new bond-mate's life-force as it pulsed throughout his systems; marking, _claiming_ its new territory with a possessiveness that Megatron had never felt before. The very last thing he was aware of before he blacked out from complete system overload was the seeker's clawed hands dragging him back down, eyes bright and burning, and a word said in that lilting language that Megatron distantly realized he now knew.

"_Mine."_

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><p><strong>So. Was it worth the wait? I tried very, very hard on the last scene, and I hope it wasn't disappointing, especially considering that this is my very first <em>fully<em> explicit giant-alien-robot-sex-scene. I debated for a long time on whether or not I should do sticky or plug-and-play in addition to spark-merging, but eventually decided to stick to what I know best. XD**

**I also whiffled very obviously on writing out their conversations/negotiations. To be honest, it was taking too damn long. In the interest of getting this finally posted, I simply took highlights out of some of those conversations and used them as breaks in the flow of Megatron's P.O.V. The result came out quite nicely, I think. Though for some reason I think I made Starscream a little too creepy...eh. It'll all tie in eventually, so cheers to that/ :)  
><strong>

**Other than that, though I will in no way be taking as long to update this fic (need to finish editing the next chapter, and I'm halfway through the chapter after that), I can honestly say that I won't be updating as quickly: school and work are kicking my ass. **


	5. Skirmishes

**Endgame**

**Part 4: _Skirmishes_**

**Summary:** After the fall of Vos, there was nothing its Winglord could do to reclaim it. Nothing, that is, except to sell his bastard heir to the leader of the Decepticons. Starscream, however, has other ideas. He would not let Coldfront reclaim Vos.

**Fandom:** Transformers

**Continuity:** AU! G1. Pre-Earth.

**Pairing:** Megatron/Starscream

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N: **Heh. Admit it, you thought I forgot about this story, didn't you? XD This is more than a bit over-due, and I do apologize for the delay, but I had some inspiration for a couple more scenes, and those scenes ran away from me and went postal – not to mention the irritation of trying to integrate those scenes seamlessly with what I had already written. As the added scenes nearly doubled the length of the original chapter, I'm not exactly displeased about this and hope you won't be, either. Just to give you guys a heads up: this chapter is longer than most of my one-shots. :P Things are starting to get going, finally, and though my strength is not in describing fight scenes, I gave it my all and am rather happy with the results. I'm happy about this chapter period.

* * *

><p>"<em>In the confrontation between the stream and the rock, the stream always wins. Not through strength, but through persistence."<em>

_-Unknown_

"The Cruxian Plains," Thundercracker said as they came to a halt at the top of the ridge.

Beneath them, a barren wasteland stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. Here and there skeletal ruins jutted out of the ground, giving testament to the horrifying revelation that this had once been a city. "It's so …_open_," Starscream said.

"Yes," Thundercracker agreed quietly, wings twitching slightly in unease. Beside him, Skywarp openly stared in shock, for once quiet and still. "From what I understand, this used to be a city of miners and trades-mechs who were protesting the Dynasty's rule, before the Autobots completely razed it to the ground several thousand years ago. Not many of them survived that purge, and those that did later on went on to become the first Decepticon Warlord and his elite."

Starscream shivered, over-active imagination having no problem picturing the Autobots slaughtering every living thing in their path. Despite their currently civilian-based lifestyles and delicate frames, the Autobots of ancient times had been just as brutal and savage as any Decepticon was now, which was part of the reason why seekers had split from their control so long ago.

He heard the sound of voices and turned to look behind him. The three of them had out-distanced the rest of the hoard of mechs, and now the others were climbing the ridge below them, Megatron in their lead. Do to the sheer size of the hoard it had been next to impossible to arrange faster transportation, and, because of all the alt-mode-less younglings and slaves that had arrived load-by-load over several orns, they were now forced to walk back to Kaon. Their long trek across Cybertron wasn't just a matter of inconvenience, though. Megatron had his own reasons for moving at such a slow pace, one of which was allowing Starscream to adapt a little better to Decepticon culture while also allowing the Decepticons the time to get used to the idea that Starscream was now partially in control of them.

Coldfront had not been pleased. He was a seeker, a sparked-flier. Seekers, after all, were made to fly, not walk on the ground. Starscream, despite this viewpoint, was used to being grounded, and it showed. Compared to the other non-Decepticon seekers, and especially to his own sire, Starscream's movements were fluid and sure, though nowhere near as graceful as he was in the air. Coldfront, compared to _all_ of the other fliers, was visibly struggling with both the slow pace and the extended periods of time on his pedes. The Winglord was miserable, angry, and getting more and more volatile with each day. Senator Ratbat had urged Coldfront to stay in Axion as his guest, but although Starscream privately wished his sire had, Coldfront would have none of it. The Winglord would stay with Megatron until the debt had been paid in full, until the army he'd been promised was following him back to Vos. There had been a great many threats issued on what would befall Megatron should the Warlord try and cheat him. Ratbat had merely smiled and wished him luck.

One look at his sire's clumsy, grumbling form convinced Starscream that he did not want to listen to any of his sire's complaints and thinly-veiled threats right now. A quick check of his chronometer told him that it was almost time for them to stop for the day. Although most of them could go on for much longer, the younglings and the sparklings that had been brought to the ceremony were bound to be hungry and tired, if not already recharging quietly in a slave's arms.

"I want to fly," he told Thundercracker. "Wait for me, and tell the rest of them to break camp."

Thundercracker smiled, a small glint of mischief in his optics. "And if they throw a fit?" he asked, obviously thinking of Coldfront.

Starscream was thinking of Coldfront as well. He smiled back at his two companions. "They wouldn't dare," he murmured quietly. He was Lord Consort now, bonded for all eternity to Megatron. Unless told otherwise by the Warlord, his word was law. Starscream knew that Megatron would not protest the early halt.

Skywarp, however, twitched his wings. "I hope your bonded doesn't keep him waiting for much longer," he said uneasily. "He'll leave when he gets his ten thousand warriors, and Megatron _did_ promise."

Starscream and Thundercracker shared a look. "Yes, but…. Decepticons look upon this sort of thing differently," Thundercracker said quietly. "I told Coldfront as much, Ratbat has told him, but the Winglord will not listen. The Decepticons are _not_ traders. Coldfront thinks he sold Starscream, and now he wants his promised price." He shrugged helplessly. "Yet Lord Megatron would say he had Starscream as a _gift_. He will give Coldfront a gift in return, yes, but when he feels like it."

Starscream smiled. "And one does not _demand_ a gift, not from Megatron. One does not demand _anything_ of Megatron."

"It's still not right to make him wait," Skywarp muttered. "I want him gone. He does nothing but bitch about how things are not being done as he wills them and twist my wings. Coldfront thinks he can take back Vos with ten thousand Decepticon warriors. I say give him the soldiers and let him try."

Starscream snarled. "Coldfront could not take back Vos with ten _million_ warriors, let alone ten thousand. You're a fool if you think my Lord has any plans of wasting _any_ of his warriors on Coldfront's ambitions."

It was Thundercracker's turn to be uneasy. "He means to back out of the deal?"

Starscream shook his head in negation, understanding where Thundercracker was coming from. To break such a deal was to be known as Oath-breaker, and there were few beings in the known universe that would _ever_ deal with such a mech. Oath-breakers, if they weren't killed on sight, were not acknowledged. They existed unseen and unheard, and no being would help them. "There was a deal struck, and a deal to be honored, but it was not one between Coldfront and Megatron," he said, watching the two of them closely. Skywarp, practically raised in a society of hidden words and subtle power plays caught on immediately, gazed back at him solemnly, asking without saying a word if Starscream knew what he was doing, if there was a solid plan in the works. When Starscream nodded, he smiled eagerly, agreeing to whatever Starscream had planned with no questions asked.

Thundercracker's wings twitched, but he said nothing. It was not the support Starscream had been looking for, but it was not opposition either, and he would take what he could get. For now.

With a gentle twitch of his wings in farewell, Starscream ignited his thrusters and flew down the steep ridge and out into the wasteland, flying out much farther than he had originally planned on doing once he heard his sire's voice reach shrieking levels. Obviously, Starscream's order was sitting unwell with the older seeker, not that Starscream cared.

At the bottom of the ridge, the vast, empty expanse with its few skeletal remains was even more desolate and haunting than it had appeared at the top. Starscream cut off his thrusters and landed, completely alone in the silence and not caring. He was rarely alone any more. Cycle followed cycle, until Starscream could almost forget that he had not been born to the Decepticon ways. There was a strange sort if serenity to be found in the upfront culture. He woke every morning in Megatron's arms, sore and lightly dented but relishing every ache as he discovered them. Most of his day was spent walking with Thundercracker and Skywarp, occasionally joined by the two trines that were his honor guard of sorts, discussing the things they'd observed and learned during the nights. Starscream was learning much about his new people, and was finding himself re-evaluating his plans to include their safety in addition to his own. It was a new feeling for himself, thinking of others with intention to _care_ for them.

He was here alone because he needed time and space to center himself, his new bond, and these new feelings, time and space he hadn't had since the bonding ceremony. His thoughts were chaotic, his spark wild and constantly spinning, and that wouldn't do. He needed to be clear of mind and thought in order to succeed in his goals. He could not afford a single mistake, not now, not ever. After all, he was no longer simply fighting for his own freedom – there were lives at stake here. Not just his, not just the Decepticons who he now were responsible, but _Megatron's_ life. He could feel him, even now, a steady, forceful pounding in his spark, a conqueror, a tyrant-in-the-making, the insurmountable force upon which he could trust would never leave him – _could_ never leave him.

He was so deep within himself that he had numbed his sensors to outside influences, which was stupid in retrospect, as he found himself suddenly on the ground, one wing torn and the other bent from the rough landing. The pain hit him like a smack across the facial-plating, and he accidentally allowed the pain to travel across the bond before he managed to get ahold of himself and close it off. The pain was bad, but he'd had worse before. Snarling, he climbed to his pedes, only to come optic-to-optic with his sire.

Coldfront was obviously displeased. "You _dare_!" the irate seeker hissed. "You _dare_ give commands to me? _To me?_" His sire's elegant facial plating – so similar to his own, and yet so completely different – twisted into an expression that was dark and ugly. Coldfront grabbed him, shook him. "Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you! _Look at you!_"

Starscream did not need to look. He knew who he was better than Coldfront did; more importantly, Megatron knew who he was. That, as far as Starscream was concerned, was all that mattered.

Coldfront was still screaming at him. "…_You_, of all mechs, do _not_ command me. Do you understand, you _pathetic_ scrap-heap? I am Winglord! I will _not_ hear the orders of some barbarian's _slut_, do you hear me?" One of his hands found Starscream's broken wing and tugged, causing another wave of agony that he barely managed to block from the bond. "_Do you hear me?_"

Starscream hissed and in one smooth movement, withdrew the dagger Ratbat had gifted him with all those cycles ago and slammed it deep into his sire's side. The dagger was so well made it slid through his sire's armor like it was made of organic cloth; the blade just long enough that it would scrap uncomfortably against Coldfront's spark-chamber. His sire released his wing with a pained gasp, and Starscream shoved him back as forcefully as he could.

Coldfront stared at him, optics pained but furious. Starscream had never defied him before, not like this. He'd never fought back before. Starscream knew that Coldfront was _logically_ aware of the fact that he could not treat Starscream the way he had been before; _logically_, Starscream was no longer his to command or to hurt. But while logic might have once been able to calm his sire's vicious temper once upon a time, Starscream also knew those days were long since passed. Coldfront was capable of logic, but it had no true hold on his broken psyche. No, what ruled Coldfront now was insanity, dark and deep, barely hidden by the thin veneer of civility and the countless eons of tradition.

Starscream watched him calmly. Coldfront would try to hurt him badly for this, he knew. _Try_ being the operative word. He grinned at his sire, taunting without words, practically begging the older seeker to try. He was not disappointed. Coldfront roared, reason gone, rage and pain all that was left. His sire lunged, hands out-stretched, claws ready to shred, but for as quick and strong as Coldfront was, Starscream was quicker, smaller, and he was thinking clearly. He ducked under Coldfront's reach, pivoting smoothly on one pede as he thrust his own clawed hands up and out, shattering his sire's canopy and lodging into the cockpit beneath it. His claws dug deep, and then he was pivoting again, ripping out two handfuls of internal wires, twisting away from his sire who was instinctively reaching for his wound.

He ended up facing the emptiness behind his sire, and with nothing short of sadistic glee, turned as swiftly as he could, braced a pede on his sire's back just between his wings, and ignited the thruster. The howl that escaped his sire's vocalizer brought a vicious smile to Starscream's face.

Coldfront collapsed onto the ground, leaking energon onto the scarred surface of the once-city, wire's in his chassis sparking and hissing, his back half-melted and smoking. Starscream walked around and paused in front of his sire, waiting. When Coldfront finally looked up, bewilderment and fury equal within his optics, Starscream crouched down, one hand immediately grasping the hilt of his dagger. Coldfront went absolutely still; all Starscream had to do was withdraw the dagger and plunge it down into his already wounded chassis; all Starscream had to do was reach up and slit his sire's throat and watch him bleed to death. Starscream was sorely tempted.

"I know exactly who I am," he said quietly instead. "I am Lord Consort of the Decepticons before I am a seeker, and as long as you travel with my new people and my Lord does not contradict my word, you will _obey_." He twisted the dagger slightly. "You will stop commanding the seeker's underneath my command as if they were yours to do with as you please, you will stop abusing Skywarp, and you will stop treating me like a simple-minded sparkling incapable of defending itself." He smiled, and it was not kind. "Do _you_ understand?" he parroted back at his sire.

Coldfront glared up at him, but even the insane Winglord knew when not to press matters; he nodded his head, optics promising retribution.

Starscream sighed. "Not good enough." He twisted the dagger again, sharply this time, before wiggling it obscenely, drawing out the pain of having the wound widened. Coldfront howled again, but stayed as still as possible. Any further and the blade stood a good chance of piercing his spark-chamber. "I want you to say it," Starscream said almost pleasantly.

Coldfront scowled. "_I understand_," he hissed out.

Starscream smiled, and stood, drawing out the dagger as slowly as he could as he did so. "Good," he murmured. "I'm glad we had this little chat." Without waiting for an answer, he ignited his thrusters and raced off, being very careful due to the state of his wings. They would be repaired easily enough, but flying was tricky with bent wings – it could be done, if one knew what they were doing well enough to compensate, and anti-gravs helped a great deal.

Once he got to the encampment that was only just starting to settle down for the night, he sought out the medic, Hook. As soon as the mech finished his repairs, he casually mentioned the state his sire was in, and that he might need help getting back up the ridge, before walking over towards his bondmate and settling down beside him to begin the evaluations. Megatron, after all, still needed an Air Commander and Second-in-Command, and most of their evenings were spent watching the various fliers as they were put through their paces.

At first, Starscream had been allowed to watch only – neither of the two lieutenants that traveled with them could trust Starscream as far as they could throw him, and in attempting to keep harmony between Megatron and the two of them, Starscream had easily agreed to bow out of the discussions, though he certainly had more than a few things to say about the various performances. This lasted for all of a breem, before Coldfront, for once being useful, had despairingly remarked that if Megatron was fool enough to bond himself to a Winglord's only heir and not draw on the obvious expertise at his fingertips, well then, perhaps he should just take his ten-thousand warriors and leave now? After all, he had reasoned in an easily-seen-through attempt at forcing Megatron to uphold his end of the bargain, he didn't wish to see the last of his heir's die from another's incompetence.

Easily-seen-through attempt it may have been, but it had the added bonus of making both Soundwave and Shockwave _think_. Regardless of how the two of them felt about it, Starscream and Megatron's lives were forever intertwined now, and any Air Commander would be commanding Starscream should he and his entourage be included in any wars. If said Air Commander was not up to the task, and got Starscream killed, then so too would Megatron die. That particular scenario was not a likely one, as no Lord Consort had ever been involved in any battles the Decepticons may have fought – the job of the Lord Consort was to oversee civilian matters and ensure that the warriors had something to return home _to_. What was more likely to happen was the threat of an incompetent Air Commander failing to do his proper duties and getting _Megatron_ killed, which in turn would kill Starscream.

In this, despite the image he was being forced to project, Starscream had proved himself invaluable to the Decepticon Warlord and his lieutenants. It was more than just being a heir to a Winglord; despite his rather demanding training, and although he had never attended any of the various War Academies, he had been …_acquaintances_ with quite a few fliers from all of them, and knew what to look out for. It went without saying that the Decepticons were expert warriors while on the ground, but fighting in the air was something that was relatively new for them – the few fliers they did have were descendents of mechs who had felt that they had no choice but join or starve to death, or worse, in the Underground. They had seekers, to be sure – but of the thirteen they had, only nine had been able to form a stable trine bond, and none of them had been taught about the intricacies of fighting in the air, instead relying on a mish-mash of moves very obviously copied off of vid-files and raw instinct.

So Starscream spent most of his time in the evenings dissecting the moves of the auditioning fliers, speaking mostly to his mate, but loudly enough that his lieutenants could also hear what he said and comment accordingly. He went through the intricacies of the moves they did and how they either should have been done or what in particular they had improved upon. He listened to which of the fliers caught their attention and why, and either agreed or dismissed them, also giving calm, rational explanations for why he did so.

It was well known that some models were better at flying than others. Sparked fliers, in particular, were often better fliers than, say, a modified one, and war-builds like the seekers were always going to be better than the commercial-built. It was this fact that made the maneuvers that the modified and commercial builds performed all the more spectacular to watch. What a sparked flier could do instinctively took extensive training, much practice, and strong discipline for the modified and commercial builds to do. Starscream would much rather have a mech in command that had practiced their maneuvers over and over again until it was perfected over a mech who relied on his instinctive programming any day, even if those practiced moves weren't quite as graceful or as 'flashy'.

Naturally, this viewpoint upset quite a few fliers, the seekers who sought a place amongst the Decepticon Army – and his sire – in particular. Thus, it wasn't long into their trek across Cybertron before he was challenged to an informal Triage. Starscream smiled – a large, slightly demented bearing of sharp denta – as he not only accepted the challenge, but gave a reply that would set the tone for what Skywarp would later be heard calling "the total _ownage_."

"All of you," Starscream said, his tone amused.

Updraft, the chosen spokesmech for the seekers looking to challenge the Decepticon Lord's bonded, frowned in confusion. "Huh?"

"All of you," Starscream repeated obligingly, still smiling. "At once," he continued.

Megatron, sitting next to him and watching all this go down with cold, calculating optics, was also smiling – it was just a small quirk of his lip plating, but those who knew the Decepticon Warlord also knew that that small quirk might as well have been a full-blown grin. The Decepticons around them who saw that small quirk on Megatron's face stilled and turned their steady gazes onto the seekers. The sight of so many optics, all steady and interested and mildly threatening, coupled with Starscream's steady demented grin disturbed Updraft, and, uneasy, he glanced back at the group he was speaking for. The others shifted, but none offered to take back the challenge.

Thundercracker, beside him, hissed. "Are you out of your fraggin' processors? How can you even _think_ about taking on all of them at once?"

Starscream shared a brief look with Megatron, before shaking his head. "Perhaps I will not be the last mech standing at the end of the match, but I can and will take most of them down with me."

"At least take us with you! Skywarp and I could at least fly with you as Trine – the rules of Triage at least permit that." the blue seeker appealed, obviously concerned with Starscream's apparent suicidal tendencies.

Beside him, Skywarp bounced in eager anticipation. "This will be so cool! It's been _eons_ since I got to fight!"

Starscream studied the two seekers.

During their progressive march across half of Cybertron, Thundercracker and Skywarp had become his near-constant companions. Starscream had become inordinately fond of the both of them, and had done his best to get to know them for who they really were and not what they wanted Megatron and his sire to think them as.

Thundercracker, for instance, was a proud mech who studied history and culture almost obsessively, and had the current Emirate of Vos not banished him, would never have considered becoming a soldier. Although all seekers went to the War Academy, or, like Starscream, received private instruction in the art of war, most of them never used it; they attended 'secondary' schooling to train them for construction, teaching, medical, and other such professions. Thundercracker's dream had once been to become a teacher of sparklings, and the seeker's calm demeanor and almost-endless patience helped quite a bit in settling both the highly rambunctious Skywarp and the not-quite-so-noticeably easily agitated Starscream.

Skywarp, on the other hand, was just _fun_. Oh, sure the purple seeker knew about the harshness of life – he _had_ been a pleasure-slave for most of his formative years – but despite what he had seen and suffered, he was genuinely glad to be alive. Skywarp was always moving, always talking, always planning pranks and then carrying them out. Already Starscream had determined that Skywarp had three modes: sneaking, doing, and caught. He suspected this might have annoyed him had it not been for the simple fact that because Skywarp genuinely liked him, he was constantly putting on shows that were geared to amuse Starscream, and Starscream's sense of humor was admittedly a little, well, _dark_. Starscream still didn't know why Skywarp was so taken with him – the fact that Starscream treated him as an equal, a brother almost, and not like the slave he technically _was_ helped quite a bit there – but figured that that was a conversation that would have to wait until he was too highly over-energized to care about his own hubris.

He enjoyed flying and talking with the two of them, but he had never considered trining the pair. Perhaps he should have, considering how often he found himself seeking out their company lately, and vice versa, but still... "I can't," he said, holding up a hand when both looked like they were going to start protesting. "It's not a matter of not wanting to take you both, but a matter of practicality. I don't know what you're capable of, and neither of you have ever seen me in action." There would be more than one unwanted injury between them if he accepted their help, especially considering that there was no actual bond in place.

Thundercracker sighed and said nothing more, conceding to the wisdom of what he was saying, but Skywarp was frowning. When he opened his mouth to start protesting, Coldfront, who had been listening with a disgusted sneer on his face, smacked the purple seeker in the back of the helm before he could get out a single word. "No one interferes," the Winglord snarled. "Not in a Triage, informal or not. The challenge has been given, and has been accepted." When Skywarp started to protest, Coldfront growled, clawed hand grabbing the seeker by his wing and twisting, drawing a short shriek of pain out of the purple seeker, ignoring (or just not noticing) the way frames tensed and optics lit up in ire as the Winglord once again overstepped his bounds.

"Enough," Starscream hissed, wings flared high. His claws clenched as a strange possessive anger set his spark awhirl. A low, warning rumble sounded from the Warlord sitting beside him, and all mechs stilled again, watching warily to see if Megatron would chose to settle the matter himself.

Coldfront stared at him, optics narrowed, clearly remembering the "lesson" Starscream had taught him earlier, but also willing to brush it off as a fluke. Starscream could see the thoughts rolling though his sire's processor, could see the way the Winglord's claws tightened on Skywarp's wings as if intending to do permanent damage, before letting go. He would be more concerned about the subtle challenge, had it not been for the fact that Starscream knew Coldfront wouldn't be alive for much longer.

After glaring at the older mech, silently daring him to go for Skywarp's wings again, he eventually rose to his pedes and stretched, easing out the kinks in his joints from sitting so still for such a prolonged period of time. He glanced at all of his challengers, identifying how many there were (thirty-one: 8 complete trines, one loner, and the rest in pairs), and if any one particular seeker looked particularly worrisome. None of them did, he noted with some satisfaction. He smiled easily, and braced himself. "Well, shall we?" he asked, deliberately putting a mocking tone into the question, before jumping into the air and shifting seamlessly from root to alt mode not 3-feet in the air above his mate's helm. In the split second before his mass would have brought him crashing right back down to the ground, he ignited his thrusters. There was a sharp *crack* and he was off, breaking the sound barrier and leaving a trail of smoke and fire behind him.

It was an exceptionally impressive display, as most seekers needed to actually ignite their thrusters and fly for a few moments before actually transforming into their alt-modes. The group nominally headed by Updraft and his trine was no different, and all of them wasted further time just enjoying the site of Starscream's flying. All seekers loved to fly, and despite whatever problems they may have had with the new Lord Consort and his ideas, not a single one of them could deny that Starscream in the air was a sight to behold.

Eventually though, they joined him, leaping into the air en mass. Most of them scattered, possibly to attack as opportunistically as possible, most likely to hold off until the more ruthless of them had tired him out. Others formed formations that revealed their Academy training – there wasn't a wing a centimeter out of place as they flew, which would be their downfall. The ones who scattered knew enough about real aerial combat to know that against a single flier, formations were more of a hindrance than a help, especially when the lone flier's skills and weapons were unknown.

A swift backflip and a quick 180˚ turn had him charging the main formation. He fired missiles as he did so, forcing the main formation to scatter as they attempted to avoid both him and the projectiles. Several went down, not fast enough to avoid both. He kept the rest of them scattered, chasing them down one by one; it was easy, so easy. They were so young, so inexperienced, so naïve. They fought as though this was a training session, and not the informal Triage they had challenged him to.

He shifted from alt to root mode, cutting his anti-gravs and his thrusters and dropping instantly into freefall at a speed that clearly hadn't been expected by the startled tetra-jet beneath him, who had attempted to shift out the way. The other flier failed, miserably. Starscream landed with a triumphant shriek on the tetra-jet's cockpit, shattering the glass beneath the force of his weight and the speed of his impact. Immediately he dug his long claws into the flier's wings and _tore_ before leaping off, transforming, and taking off with a sharp *crack* as he broke the sound barrier yet again. The jet, screaming in agony, went down.

The whole encounter had lasted only a few brief clicks.

Starscream was too fast for them to touch, too ruthless for them to counter, and too sensitive to his surroundings for them to trap. His skills – formations and movements beaten into him since a very young age by a sadistic and mostly-insane sire and ruthlessly reinforced by seven vorns of fending for himself in the underground societies of Cybertron against mechs that made these mercenary seekers look like spoiled hatchlings – came as naturally to him now as a spark-pulse. Like all other seekers, most of the tricks of flying were instinctive, but unlike most of his frame-kin who were content with their instinctive behaviors, Starscream had worked and worked at what he could do. Unlike most other seekers, who regulated most of the basic routines and programs associated with flight to auto-pilot, Starscream paid particular attention to all of them; his processor was more than capable of splitting his attention between all of these programs and flight itself, which allowed him several clicks of reaction time that none of the others had. Further complicating matters was the fact that most of his current opponents had never fought against grounders, and as such, weren't prepared to face the moves that grounders fought with, especially when they were in the air where grounders couldn't touch them. No flier shredded another's wings, it was known; and that was why Starscream would win.

Not because he was better than all of them combined (though one-on-one, he was), but because he fought viciously and without mercy, treating this informal Triage as if it were the real thing, as if his life truly were in danger. He used grounder tricks to bring his opponents down swiftly, and was already moving onto the next batch of opponents/victims by the time the rest of them realized what he was doing.

The _panic_.

Starscream delighted in the way their maneuvers became sloppy and disjointed as they realized that he wasn't playing their game by their rules but instead playing his own game that they didn't know the rules to. He barrel-rolled to the right, firing his missiles as he did so, never stopping to check to see if his shots had hit their marks before abruptly pulling out of the maneuver and pulling back to avoid a seeker attempting to turn his own trick against him. He hovered for a brief moment, waiting for the other flier to re-orient himself, and then transformed back into root-mode.

The last thing that seeker would ever see was Starscream's claws reaching for his face.

Starscream tore through these fliers with a vengeance, maiming and killing without discrimination. He could feel the steady pulse of his mate's spark, calm and even with the occasional surges of amused pride when Starscream pulled a particularly dirty trick. Megatron did not stop him, and if the Decepticon Lord wished this to continue, what could any other say?

Nothing. None of them could say a damned thing, and Starscream knew it. Just as he knew that if his opponents had been _Decepticon_ seekers, Megatron would not be so silent. But they weren't Decepticons, and Starscream could already sense that regardless of who became Air Commander, Starscream would be doing quite a few 'crash courses' in the art of aerial combat.

He flew in steady circles above his mate, daring any to challenge him. None did. None would, not so soon at any rate. He swiftly transformed and landed, taking care to make the landing as light as an organic feather, and turned to face his mate, unable to hide the exultant grin on his face. His claws were still dripping with the energon of his victims, and all around him he could hear the screaming of those that were still alive. Megatron watched him with that strange little quirk of his lips, optics burning, face calm; approval, pride and slight arousal was .

"That was so cool!" Skywarp burst out, tackling him to the ground in a fierce hug. Starscream, despite the awkward and slightly painful landing, couldn't help but laugh and return the hug. "You gotta teach me that trick were you dropped right on top of that afthead and spring-boarded off!"

Starscream couldn't keep the grin off his face as Skywarp rambled on. He looked over at Thundercracker who was walking over to them, a slightly awed look on his facial plating. "How did you do most of that? I've never seen anyone fly like _that_."

Starscream didn't get a chance to answer. Coldfront appeared like a thundercloud above him, optics spitting fury. He reached down and hauled Skywarp off of Starscream with one clawed hand, claws digging into the smaller seeker's wings and piercing straight through as he tossed the screaming seeker off to the side in a display of strength that might have meant more if someone had actually cared. Instead, though Coldfront appeared to be deaf and blind to it, all his display was doing was earning the ire of those around them – most of the Decepticons _liked_ Skywarp.

Once Skywarp was out of the way, Coldfront reached out and tried to haul him up in the same manner. Tried. But when he reached down, Coldfront suddenly found Thundercracker in his way, the blue seeker practically snarling, optics livid, wings flaring up and out in a display of dominance that the passive seeker usually would never have bothered to use. Starscream used the moment to pick himself off the ground, moving as swiftly as he dared – moving too fast would only provoke Coldfront into hurting Thundercracker to get to him, and that was something Starscream didn't want.

"Move," the Winglord snapped out.

Thundercracker snorted. "Not if you _begged_," he hissed out.

"I said _move_, seeker." Coldfront's wings also flared out, longer, thicker, and bigger than Thundercracker's own. "I will not tell you again."

"Good." Thundercracker said, this time raising both barrels of the guns attached to his arms and pointing them at the Winglord. "Because I won't listen, no matter how many times you tell me." There was a collective gasp from those around them that knew just how severe an offence Thundercracker had committed, but those gasps were few and most likely from the non-Decepticons in the group. Most were quiet; watching, listening, contemplating. Displays of dominance were many, frequent, and varied in the Decepticon culture. Not even Megatron had any peace from them – every now and then some mech got it into his helm that he was the biggest, meanest mech on the block, and Megatron had to bust said helm against the nearest convenient solid surface a few times to reassert himself. The day he didn't, the day he _couldn't_, Megatron would be replaced as leader of the Decepticons.

Such was the way of life here – only the strong deserved to lead. Though Coldfront didn't know it, what he did here and now would determine whether or not any Decepticon would ever give him even the illusion of respect again. Starscream _did_ know it, just as he knew that if he remained as he was, allowing Thundercracker to fight his battles for him, any chance he'd have of gaining the Decepticons' respect and allegiance was next to nil. He'd been granted leeway so far because he was an outsider, but with each passing day he grew more and more accustomed to their culture, and soon he would be expected to live completely by their rules and traditions.

Coldfront's optics narrowed. His clawed hands clenched and stretched out repeatedly, and Starscream knew he was preparing to attack. He also knew that despite Thundercracker's strength, he was no match for Coldfront. On a technical point, neither was Starscream, his earlier success notwithstanding. But Starscream had the advantage of knowing how Coldfront moved, how he operated, and – to an extent – how he thought. He also had an advantage of speed that Thundercracker did not have, in addition to a much more compact frame that would present less of a target in the midst of a fight. Thundercracker was large and strong, but he was also too _slow_.

Coldfront would tear him to pieces, and wouldn't think twice about it.

"Thundercracker," he murmured, placing a placating hand against the back of one of his companion's wings. "It's alright. You can move."

Thundercracker tensed further. "He hurt Skywarp; he would hurt you."

Starscream smiled. "Yes. He hurt Skywarp, despite the …rules I had laid down for him earlier. He will be dealt with, soon, you have my word."

Thundercracker lowered the guns a fraction. "You swear it?"

"Yes."

Thundercracker nodded, and stood aside, wings still flared out, optics still glaring. But he was out of the way, which was all Starscream wanted.

Coldfront snarled at the sight of him, but did not move. Clearly he remembered how easily Starscream had broken through his attack the last time. Starscream would have to provoke him, or would be forced to charge himself, which would put the vast majority of any fight between them in Coldfront's favor. "You will _deal_ with me?" Coldfront hissed out. "Who are you to even dare _suggest_ such a thing?"

Starscream raised an optic ridge. "Your only heir, _sire_." He smiled, deliberately mocking.

Coldfront's facial plating twisted, fierce expression becoming something twisted and ugly. "You are no heir of mine, _whore_," he hissed out.

Starscream raised an optic ridge. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked mildly. "Lies? _Really_. Come now, _sire_. Surely you can do better than insults with no grain of truth?" He flicked his wings dismissively.

It was the wing flick that did it. Coldfront rushed him, faster than he had any right to be, considering his size, but Starscream was faster. Thankfully. He waited until just the last second before ducking down and then popping right back up, hitting Coldfront in his midriff and forcing the larger mech off his pedes and onto his back in a flip that had not a few of the spectators wincing. Coldfront reached out and swiped with his claws, but Starscream was already backing up, so only caught the tip of them against his left pede. The tips still bit deep, especially considering how thin his armor plating was in comparison, and he was very lucky that they hit nothing vital, like the wires that ensured he could walk.

Coldfront scrambled to his pedes, vents working harder than usual; the fall must have rattled something loose inside. Starscream smirked at him, flexing his own claws. He deliberately flicked his wings again, watching Coldfront watching him. Coldfront bellowed and charged again, and Starscream was just as ready. Again he ducked down, and again he used Coldfront's own momentum to flip the seeker. Only this time he didn't allow Coldfront the time to recover. Swiftly as he could, he withdrew his dagger, straddled his sire, and held the blade to the larger seeker's throat. Coldfront snarled and made to buck Starscream off, but Starscream pressed the blade down deep enough to sever one of the minor energon lines.

Coldfront went very, very still. Starscream smiled at him. "Do you know what your problem is, Coldfront?" he asked quietly. "You still harbor the illusions that you _matter_, that mechs _respect_ you, that I am _afraid_ of you. The truth is, you matter to no one and nothing. No one respects you, Winglord, no one wants you as their leader." He dug the blade a bit deeper, deep enough to nick one of the main lines. "You also labor under the impression that you will ever reclaim Vos." Starscream's smile turned cruel as he stared down at his sire, the mech who was watching him carefully. His sire's rage was slowly calming, not diminishing in the slightest, but rational thought was beginning to rear its head. "There was a deal struck, Coldfront," he said calmly, still smiling. "But it was not with _you_."

He withdrew the blade and stood, easily stepping over trembling form of what was once his greatest nightmare and walking away, helm held high. Around him he could already hear the whispers of the mechs who'd witnessed the confrontation. With any luck, he'd just cemented his place in their society. But if not, well… Coldfront was going to die regardless, so it didn't much matter, did it?

That night, after a round of celebratory 'facing that left them both staring dizzily up at the sky, Starscream broached the topic that had been bothering him ever since Thundercracker had unintentionally brought it to his attention. He glanced at his mate beside him, studying the strong features and the optics that even half-shuttered _burned_. "How much do you know of seekers?" he finally asked.

Megatron turned his helm and studied him intently for a long moment, before his lips quirked into a small smirk. "Have Thundercracker and Skywarp agreed to trine you?"

Starscream started, before he laughed. "Well, I guess that answers that question. And no, _they_ have not, not truly, not for _real_. Skywarp has made his intentions as clear as can be expected from him; he has no wish to become just another soldier, and prefers a 'master' that treats him like a fellow seeker rather than an unintelligent side-show with perks. It is Thundercracker I am worried about."

Megatron shrugged and turned his gaze back to the stars. "Just be sure that your trine-bond is in place by the time we reach Kaon. You'll need every advantage you can get to win over the rest of my lieutenants and commanders."

"Ratbat said you summoned all of them to witness the bonding." The hoard that they were traveling with was huge – more mechs than Starscream had ever seen in one gathering – and while he had known _intellectually_ that for as large as Megatron's army was, the civilian base must have been even larger to support them properly, to learn that he hadn't even seen the _whole_ of it was …processor-blowing.

"It would not have been feasible to summon _all_ of them – most of them are stationed off-planet with their own units and duties. Once we reach Kolkular, you'll be presented in video-conference with all of them." Megatron ran one hand down one of Starscream's wings, obviously enjoying the full-body shiver and the slight purr that escaped Starscream's vocalizer. "I have no doubt you'll do fine, provided we can get your fool of a sire out of the picture first."

Starscream pulled himself into a sitting position on top of Megatron, lips spreading into a devious smirk even as his hands started to trace irregular patterns into the broad chassis beneath him. "Hmmm… It will be soon, very soon indeed. It will take only one more incident before even those seekers that he has managed to con into following him wash their hands of him." He paused, smirk slipping. "Thundercracker will not like most of this once he finds out. And he _will_ find out."

Megatron hummed vaguely, gaze focusing on Starscream's wondering hands with an intensity that told Starscream that he was becoming very interested in seeing where else those hands would go. "Will he become a liability?"

Starscream sighed. "I don't know. I want to say that he would join if only because he's inordinately fond of Skywarp – I suspect they will bond in several vorns if they both live that long – not to mention he _is_ genuinely concerned for me for some reason I can't quite fathom. But I also know he is very proud and has a rigid sense of honor. He will see no honor in our future war, and he will see no reason for what must be done." Starscream met his mate's optics and held them. "But should he turn, I will not hesitate."

Megatron smirked. "I had no belief that you would." He reached up and caressed Starscream's helm before pulling him down. Starscream went willingly, eagerly even, returning the Warlord's kiss with the passion that only Megatron had ever drawn out of him.

They spoke of nothing else that night.

One night towards the end of their trek, shortly after Coldfront's public shaming and Starscream's quiet conversation with Megatron, Thundercracker found him. For once Starscream was by himself, needing the quiet to settle his once again turbulent thoughts. Even his bond was blocked, quietly and gently so as not to alarm his mate unnecessarily, but firm enough that Megatron knew not to go picking at the block. It was one of the first things that they had agreed on in regards to the bond – each were very private mechs, and neither wanted another in their heads all the time.

Thundercracker said nothing for a long period of time, simply standing quiet and still behind Starscream as he watched his sire. Starscream had been doing a lot of that lately, waiting for the perfect time to strike. He wanted this over and done with, as tired of acting as Megatron was tired of watching him act.

"You are going to kill him soon," Thundercracker finally said.

Starscream did not turn his gaze away from his sire, arguing pointlessly with the medic who was deigning to treat the temperamental seeker's latest wounds. "Yes," he said quietly. The time was coming; soon all his plans would come to fruition, and he'd finally have the vengeance he'd longed for since he'd been very young.

"He is Winglord."

"Yes," Starscream allowed. Not that it mattered.

"_You_ could be Winglord." There was silence for a small moment before Thundercracker tentatively continued, "You _should_ be Winglord."

"No," Starscream said immediately. Maybe once upon a time that was what he had wished for, what he had _hungered_ for, but now…. Now there was something else, something more, a greater destiny than a stolen title that had fate not intervened would never have been his. His gaze finally left Coldfront and settled on his soon-to-be trine-mate, studying the older seeker intently. "My place is by Megatron's side," he said, calm and steady in the face of his decision.

"But, Starscream," Thundercracker tried to protest, obviously confused. And why shouldn't he be? To be Winglord was a dream of all seekers – to be so close, and not want it was something no seeker could understand.

Starscream smiled faintly before turning his gaze back onto his sire. "I am his consort, his bonded mate, Thundercracker. In the coming time of war, I will be the quiet in the storm. I will guide and protect his people and make sure that, win or lose, he will have a nation to come home to and mechs strong and ready to protect their wounded from reprisal." He gestured at Coldfront. "I already have more than he ever did."

There was a long stretch of silence between them as they watched the medic finally give up and stalk away, muttering about 'stupid, over-pretentious Lords who should rot in the deepest pit they managed to throw themselves in.' Finally, Thundercracker sighed. "There is to be war?" he asked, voice quiet and slightly pained.

Starscream nodded. "Yes, there is to be war." He gently reached out and placed a hand on one of Thundercracker's quivering wings, soothing the seeker whom he had learned had never dealt well with unnecessary violence. "It will span the whole of Cybertron and will crush everything in its path. It will be a storm of fire and death, and at the head of it will be my Lord."

"Then what better reason to become Winglord?" Thundercracker asked. "Surely, with all the might of Vos and the Free Provinces behind him, his victory would be further assured?"

Starscream sighed. "You don't understand – "

Thundercracker shrugged off Starscream's hand and whirled around to face him, optics bright and alive and slightly pleading. "No, it's you who does not understand! Think, Starscream! There is no better flier than you – as Winglord, you would have control over all the seekers, not just the two trines assigned to you. You could easily take the position of Second in Command and Air Commander, and under your rule, we'd rise above everything we ever were! We'd finally be a force to be reckoned with, and not a side-show circus for any mech who cared to look!"

Starscream reached out and grabbed Thundercracker, shaking him once sharply. "There will be a _war_, Thundercracker! And as mighty as my bondmate may be, not even he can fight a war on two fronts!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Think! Should I claim the title of Winglord, what then? Drive out the Usurper and unify the seekers again under one banner? And then what? How could I possibly demand all of Vos to fight for a cause they not only don't believe in, but would violently oppose should they learn of it? I would have my hands full on just keeping them in line, let alone deal with the repercussions of driving out the Autobots." He sighed tiredly. "I've been taught all my life that without a Winglord, _Vos_ is nothing. Instead, Thundercracker, I find the truth of it written in the desperation behind my sire's optics: without Vos, the _Winglord_is nothing. It is just a name, just a title. It holds no power but that which others give it."

"But – "

"But _nothing_, my friend. It was a single seeker, no faster or smarter or stronger than any other who had the bearings to stand up to his oppressors and demand his freedom; it was a single seeker whose ideals gathered a following that eventually wrested control of Vos and its surrounding territories from both the Autobots and the Decepticons. Had the seekers wished to keep my sire in power, they easily could have done so. Instead, the guards that should have laid down their lives to protect my sire and his family simply stood aside and did _nothing_. The Usurper had twenty mechs by his side. _Twenty_. Every history I've read had always agreed on one point: No winglord has ever had a personal guard less than a hundred of the best warriors the War Academy could produce.

"Vos does not want a Winglord, Thundercracker. Vos does not _need_ a Winglord. It is full of mechs who are tired, just as you are, of being reviled for something they have never had control over. They want to belong, to be able to attend the schools attended by most of the Cybertronian population without being mocked and jeered, to be able to love another frame-set in peace. Another Winglord is the last thing they want, the last thing they _need_."

Thundercracker stared at him for a long moment. "You mean to use the war to unite them."

Starscream smiled. "You are clever, Thundercracker, but no. As I said, I will be the calm in the storm; once the war starts I will do _nothing_ for any mech not bearing the sigil of the Decepticons."

"You mean to just stand aside and watch as our frame-kin –!"

"I mean to protect my interests and those of my Lord's," Starscream interrupted sharply. "If that means turning my head and ignoring the deaths of any and all whom I may have once cared about in my old life, then so be it." He had to get this through to Thundercracker – for all that the older seeker wanted to be a Decepticon, and for all that he honestly wanted to trine him, Thundercracker was notorious already for being much too honorable for the Decepticons. Aside from the fact that Starscream honestly trusted and like the blue seeker, he wanted to trine him simply because Thundercracker would better balance out Skywarp than any other un-trined seeker he had met so far. However, if push came to shove, Starscream could afford to say goodbye to his friend. Permanently, if it came down to it, though Skywarp may never forgive him should it come to that.

"Now, should any mech or femme decide that they want to take the Decepticon mark – even if only as civilians and not as warriors, of course I will do all in my power to help them settle in. But I will not be able to afford to help those who will not make that choice, my friend. Our resources will be stretched thin as it is, if this war goes anywhere near as far as I believe it will."

"But – "

"No. I will fight my sire, and I will kill him. But I will _not_ be Winglord. I will _not_ be Megatron's Second in Command or his Air Commander, or any other position in his army. I am the _Lord_ _Consort_ of the Decepticons, Thundercracker. I am Megatron's partner, for good or ill. Even warriors need a safe place to sleep; even the most hardened fighter longs for a berth mate to welcome them home." He smiled easily at his friend, though there was a slight sadness to it. "I will not force you into this. Skywarp has already agreed, and we both would prefer you as ours, but I will not force you."

Thundercracker nodded, though it was clear he was still troubled. "I will have time to think on this?"

"Yes, though perhaps not as much as you would wish. Megatron bids my trine be completely in place by the time we reach Kaon – which I'm told is only another three rotations away."

"You will have my decision then." Thundercracker bowed slightly, then turned and walked away.

Starscream watched him thoughtfully, wondering. Eventually he turned away and began the short walk towards Megatron's side, already running through the list of un-trined seekers in his Lord's army, just in case.

* * *

><p><strong>So, yeah. Overdue chapter is overdue. XD This story will never be put on hold or hiatus, so you won't have to worry about that, but long periods between updates? Yeah. Sorry about that, but RL has become a bit more demanding lately. On the good side, I'm getting my life straightened out – that I've <em>finally<em> decided on a college major and have 18 more credits to go to get my degree is nothing short of a miracle – and once things settle down a bit, I should have more time to devote to the things I really love to do, like writing. **

**On the bad side, I have so many ideas and prompts to work with, and no time to do it all in. Between work, school, family duties and issues, medical issues, and sleep, I get maybe an hour to myself every day, and most days I'd rather just use that hour to sleep. XD **

**But this isn't supposed to be a bitching session, so I'll just drop that there. **

**Some notes and factoids about the Endgame!verse that you might find interesting, but so far will not be actually included in the main fic:**

**1.** Cybertronians go through three main cycles on their journey to adulthood. The first is where a Cybertronian is considered a sparkling. Sparklings are armorless, and often defenseless. They are completely dependent on those that care for them. How long they are considered sparklings varies from mech to mech, but generally around 2-3 vorns of age, they enter into their youngling years. At this point, they gain their first set of armor, though it is flimsy enough that heavy scaring to the protoform can still happen if they're not careful. Younglinghood lasts until their 20th vorn of age, mostly due to the sheer amount of upgrades and schooling they go through. Cybertronians are considered full adults at 20 vorns of age, when they receive their final upgrades. Many Cybertronians, the seekers in particular, often already have their full adult frame, so for those, these upgrades are simply the programming necessary to function fully and without glitching in adult society. Those who don't receive this programming often turn out to be more than slightly unhinged, and often have severe intimacy issues.

**2. **Seekers were created to serve the Dynasty of Primes, to be their guardians and the protectors of the people; theirs was _supposed_ to be a place of high honor. In reality, they were little more than slaves. Their treatment at the hands of the Dynasty of Primes led to more uprisings during the early years than the histories of Cybertron dare to even _hint_ at. None of these uprisings were particularly successful until shortly after the Decepticons swept across Cybertron in a tidal wave of fury, cruelty, and outright death. Vos, despite its close proximity to Iacon, was considered Decepticon territory, and all seekers stripped their city and their society of anything to do with the Autobots. To this day, many seekers refuse to learn Iacos, the traditional language of Iacon and one of the few languages surviving unchanged since the Great Divide.

**3. **Shortly after the Decepticon occupation, a lone seeker started speaking out against their 'saviors', and eventually started an uprising that was more vicious than any other in seeker history. This seeker, the first to be dubbed Winglord, successfully wrested control of Vos from both the Decepticons who currently controlled it, and the Autobots who sought to reclaim it. He also wrested control of many smaller cities and towns around Vos and Iacon, and even some further down towards the heart of the Decepticon territories. Any city a flier called home, the Winglord controlled it – mostly from the shadows. Rather than incite another war so soon after the first one, he publically claimed control of only Vos, Tarn, and Praxus, and "liberated" the others, calling them the "Free Territories". Both Autobots and Decepticons had their Emirates and their spies in the Free Territories, but it was to the Winglord the people could turn to should either get too sure of their rule.

**4. **In an odd coincidence, the designation of the first Deception Warlord was also Megatron. He was a soldier turned miner, and had lived a relatively quiet and peaceful life with his mate and three younglings. When the Autobots shut down the mine he was working in, he had had no choice but to move to the once-city Crux. Crux was a sprawling, ramshackle city of mechs just like him – displaced miners, disgraced soldiers, and disillusioned Autobot workers. They protested Autobot rule quietly at first, mostly due to the fact that they could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone the families many of them had. The Autobots' response was to send a squad of warriors to the city and raze it to the ground, leaving a scar on the land that no Cybertronian dares to build over. The Cruxian Plains, as they are called, are left as a reminder that actions have consequences. Of the almost 50,000 inhabitants, only 900 or so survived, two of which were Megatron and his only remaining youngling, Altron. Megatron and the others retreated to Kaon – one of the few cities that were not controlled by Autobots, and not for a lack of trying – and eventually led the rebellion that divided the whole of Cybertron for millions of years. The rest is history.

**5. **The title of Winglord was not, at first, hereditary. The title of Winglord used to be given only to those who proved themselves first; a Winglord had to be intelligent, cunning, ruthless, protective, and willing to do what needed be done. It gradually became hereditary over the generations as some were disinclined to abdicate the "throne" in favor of those who proved themselves more worthy. And although the position is now hereditary, there is also a long and gruesome history of assassinations of the Winglord and his family – it was, in fact, how Coldfront's own sire had secured the position for himself. Oddly enough, though Starscream doesn't know it, he has a more legitimate claim to the title of Winglord than Coldfront ever did if one traced the ruling families and their survivors.

**6. **The announcement of Skyfire and Starscream's intent to bond was scandalous in every mech's mind, including Senator Vaerys', though he never protested. Starscream was still a youngling at the time, and still almost nine vorns away from his final upgrade. Skyfire, by contrast, had recently undergone his final upgrade, and there were many who questioned the morality of allowing the two to go through with their intentions. The only reason why Vaerys never protested was because he knew full well that despite Starscream's physical age, the seeker had seen and suffered too much to ever be really innocent to the ways of life. He was too smart, and too mature for his own good. Still, there were many who did not understand that, _could_ _not_ understand that, removed from the situation as they were. Although Coldfront was the most decisive in how he took care of the "problem," there was no guarantee that Starscream would ever have been allowed to bond his first love – there were many who would have paid good money to see the shuttle removed from the equation. The harming of sparklings and younglings, though more frequent than any would have liked – especially amongst those with the political power to prevent investigation – was one of the few crimes that warranted the death penalty. And Senator Vaerys was only a minor Senator; he had very little political clout with which to protect his only heir.

**7. **One of the few relics that lasted in Vosnian culture from their time under Decepticon rule was the belief that might makes right. Of course, this received its own spin from the seekers. A seeker who believes he has been wronged had the right to challenge another to Triage – basically aerial combat to the death. There was no limits to the amount of seekers that could call for Triage against a single seeker, but there were limits to who could help that seeker out. Only trine had the right to help. This often turned deadly for the challenger, because once the challenge was given, no other was allowed to interfere. So while a trine could accept the challenge, the challenger's trine was not allowed to join in unless all three had challenged to begin with. Whoever won the Triage was considered in the right, regardless of whether they actually were or not. More than one seeker used Triage as a means of legal murder. Informal Triages were those that were fought until surrender, not deactivation.

**RnR?**


End file.
